The Second It Began
by AwfullyHardWork
Summary: The story of Lucas Taylor's arrival to Terra Nova on the second pilgrimage.
1. Chapter 1

**((April 19th, 2143))**

It was early. It was far too early. The sun had not even gone up yet. The room was dark and quiet, but, in spite of that, he just couldn't sleep anymore.

He turned from his left side to the right and looked at the clock on his plex. He discovered that, even though he would have sworn it had been at least half an hour, mere six minutes had passed since the last time he had checked it. _'Oh, god, why is it so early?'_ he thought, burying his head in the pillow.

Having spent the past two hours on-and-off awake (mostly on, tossing and turning), he figured there was no use trying to fall into deep sleep again. _'I might as well get up. Maybe I could go pack.'_ He had been planning on doing that later, once he would come back from work, but since he could not sleep, anyway…

Rubbing his face, Lucas got up and went to find his backpack.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

It felt weird. He was not sure why, but it felt weird. Every single thing he put into the bag as well as every single thing he decided to leave behind made him feel… He was not sure how. Nostalgic, perhaps. Sad. Maybe even sick. Why, though?

He stared at a shirt he was about to put into the backpack. It was a plain, brown shirt, there was nothing special about it. He did not remember when or where he had got it. It was an ordinary piece of clothing, but as he folded it and stuffed it into the bag, he felt his stomach clench up.

Why?

He did not understand it. Sure, he had been a bit nervous about going to Terra Nova. There was a lot at stake. Were he to fail, he would be stuck in that crazy place full of dinosaurs—stuck _with his father_ —for the rest of his life.

And yet, he could not help thinking that a part of his worries was related not only to Terra Nova, but also to Chicago. Not to the place he was going to, but to the place he was going away from.

It made no sense. He did not feel attached to the city. In fact, less than a year ago, he had been considering moving away. He had been considering it for no other reason than to leave the place behind and start over somewhere else. He should have been glad he was finally going to move for real. Instead, the thought of it made him queasy.

He sighed. He had to stop focusing on his nerves and pick up his pace, otherwise he would not have enough time for breakfast before going to work.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

"In conclusion," he said to a room full of physicists and engineers, "until it's time for the pilgrims to walk through the portal, I suggest we use weaker connection. It'll be enough to get signal through, there's no point in wasting that much power, and—most importantly—the longer we keep it strong, the bigger the chances of overload. And you all know what happened the last time you overloaded the portal…" After those words, Lucas turned off a hologram of numbers and graphs he had created. He looked at the people in front of him, hoping to be met with agreement.

"That is a very last-minute suggestion," an engineer seated at the front of a long conference table stated. "The pilgrimage is scheduled for tomorrow."

"I am aware of that," Lucas replied. "It took me a while to work out the math, especially since I was busy with other work-related things."

"I'd like a copy of the file if you don't mind," the engineer requested.

"No problem."

"However…" The engineer stood up and walked towards the young physicist. "Even though I do understand where you're coming from, keep in mind that the stronger we keep the connection, the better the signal will be. With a strong signal, we'll be able to find the right direction sooner. If we lower the power as you suggest, it will take longer—and the longer it takes, the bigger the chances of overload. Not to mention that if we turn it down, we risk cutting the portal off. If that were to happen, we'd have to wait for months before we could reopen it."

Lucas shook his head. "That won't happen, Ryers," he insisted, chuckling as though it should have been obvious. "It would happen if we lowered the power too much, but why do you think it took me until now to finish this? Because I was making sure that we will neither under- nor overdo it."

"How can you be so sure that you got it just right? That you didn't make any mistakes?" Ryers questioned.

Lucas glanced at the ground for a moment, then looked up and tilted his head. "Let me ask you a question," he said. "Do you know why you overloaded the portal when you first sent people through?"

"Because we overdid it. We opened it too fast—"

"Wrong," Lucas claimed, interrupting him. "The true reason is that I was not there to watch over you incompetent people." While Ryers gave him a look, one of the engineers sitting at the table started to laugh, prompting Lucas to grin. "Hey, I'm leaving soon. I don't need you kids to like me anymore, so I may as well say it as it is," he joked.

"Man," the laughing engineer said, "I'm going to miss you when you're gone."

"I'll put in a good word for you there," Lucas said, winking at him. "All right, joking aside. Hey, we talked about this yesterday. You agree with me, don't you? About lowering the power, not you being incompetent."

"Yes, I do think it's a good idea," the man confirmed.

Lucas turned back to Ryers. "See? Dan agrees with me," he declared proudly, as though it was a conclusive argument.

"He is not in charge here," Ryers responded.

Lucas nodded, glancing down. "And, of course, the man in charge does not share my opinion…"

Ryers sighed. "The man in charge would like to take a closer look at your math before making a decision."

Lucas eyed him. "Is that so?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"I'll think about it."

The physicist figured that was the best answer he would get for the time being.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

When he came back home that evening, he realized he had nothing to do. He had been planning on spending the evening by packing, but he had already finished that in the morning (he had managed to do that as well as have a bowl of very bland-tasting oatmeal). He went to his bedroom and lay down on the bed. He was not trying to fall asleep. He just stared at the ceiling, thinking in silence.

He was about the spend his last night in that apartment. The apartment which he had moved into with his mother when he had started college. The apartment where he had lived with his father after his mother's death. The apartment where he had been alone for over a year since his father had been sent to a military base and later to Terra Nova.

The apartment where he had been alone… More than just alone—lonely. Walking into the living area and seeing nobody in the room, knowing that the bedroom where his parents were supposed to sleep was constantly empty… It made him sad. He didn't like the apartment. Most people could only dream about being able to afford such a big, nice place, but he just didn't like it. Perhaps it was because he had far too many negative memories associated with it. Memories of emptiness, of arguments, of tears, and even of blood. He did not like the apartment.

So why was it that he suddenly did not like the idea of moving out of there, either? Why did a part of him suddenly want to stay?

He sighed, then sat up. He did not want to spend his last night on Earth by staring at the ceiling and drowning in his confusing emotions. He got up on his feet, and walked towards the door.

Having nothing better to do, he found himself heading to a bar close to his apartment.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

He was sitting on a stool behind the bar, staring at his half-empty glass. He had started out thinking about the day that would come next, then changed the topic to the day that was nearly over. 'I'm going to miss you when you're gone,' Dan had told him. As he thought about it, he realized Dan had been the only one who had said anything of that sort to him. He had been congratulated, he had been wished good luck—but nobody had said they would miss him.

He looked up at the bartender. Given that he had become a regular customer there since he had turned 18, he recognized the man's face. For the first time, however, he realized that he had no idea what his name was—and that the lack of knowledge was most likely mutual. "Hey, uh…" he called out towards the man, getting his attention. The barkeep took a step toward him, asking if he wanted a refill. "No, no," Lucas responded. "Can I just ask you one question?"

"Sure," the bartender replied, nodding.

Lucas glanced down for a moment, then queried, "Do you know me?"

"Yeah," the man told him, "you come here pretty often."

"Do you know my name?" Lucas inquired, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

The bartender shook his head. "No, sorry. Why? What's your name?"

"Doesn't matter. I was just curious," Lucas claimed. He looked down at his glass, pushing it a little to the left with his index finger. "I'm moving away tomorrow," he spoke while not taking his gaze—or his finger—off the glass, "and I was wondering how many people would miss me here. …or at least notice I'm gone."

The barman gave a nod. "Where are you moving to?"

Before Lucas could respond, a young woman walked up to the bar, only one empty stool away from him. The bartender excused himself and went to tend to his new customer. Lucas stayed quiet, watching the two. Once the barkeep took her order, Lucas spoke up, "Hello."

The girl looked at him, sending him a sheepish smile. "Hey."

"Do you know me?" he asked her.

"Uh…" She furrowed her brows. "No. No… Should I?"

Lucas eyed her before answering. She must have been about his age, perhaps just a year or two older. She had blonde hair that reached to the bottom of her back. Her face was oblong, and her eyes looked doe-ish. She did not appear familiar to him. "Actually, I don't know you either," he said. "Do you come here often?"

"No, I've never been in this bar before," she answered. "I only moved into the city a few days ago."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Oh, rub it in my face, will you?" he muttered, turning his gaze back to his glass.

"Excuse me?"

He picked the glass up. "Oh, don't mind me," he told her. "I haven't been sleeping well lately, so I'm a bit cranky." He drank the remaining liquid from the glass, then put it down with a grimace on his face. His throat was burning. "You see, I'm moving away tomorrow," he explained, looking at the girl again. "It's only temporarily, but… I don't know, it just feels strange. I don't even know why. Maybe it's because I've lived here for so long… Five whole years. I've never lived anywhere for that long before."

"Really? Do you move that often?" she asked.

"Yeah. My dad's in the military, so we had to move, like, every two to three years," Lucas said. "You'd think I'd be used to moving by now, but…" 'Used to moving.' He should have been used to moving. No, he _was_ used to moving. Used to leaving his home behind and starting a new one. "…I guess I'm not."

He had done it multiple times in the past: getting used to a new, unknown place, and forgetting the old, known one. He had always been fine with it before. He had always been able to quickly adapt to having a different home. As a child, he had sometimes been nervous about the unfamiliar people he would meet, but he did not have a problem with that anymore. And the change of the actual place—that had never bothered him. …until now.

But why? He was used to it, wasn't he? His family had moved for the first time when he had been a mere toddler, and they had done it a few more times since then. He was used to it. He was used to leaving and changing his home.

Changing his home…

"Well, where are you moving to?"

He heard her ask the question, but his brain did not process its meaning. He was too busy realizing why it was he had reservations about leaving. Leaving and changing his home—that was it. That was the thing he had to do but could not afford to do at the same time.

He was used to moving. He was used to leaving his home behind and starting a new one. This time, however, he could not do that. He could not move. He could not allow himself to forget about Chicago. After all, it was going to be only temporary. He would come back once he would finish his job. He could not allow himself to forget about Chicago, and even more importantly, he could not allow himself to feel at home in Terra Nova. He absolutely could not allow that to happen. He needed to hate Terra Nova. He needed to hate it with all his heart since he was going there to destroy it.

He smiled to himself, finally understanding where his queasiness was coming from. He did not have a problem with leaving the known and adapting to the unfamiliar. He did not have a problem with loving the old and hating the new. What he did have a problem with was doing both at once. He would have to get used to Terra Nova without really getting used to it. He would have to forget about Chicago without really forgetting it. He would have to move without really moving. How the hell was he supposed to do that? He had no idea. He had no idea, but he didn't care. He'd figure something out along the way. For the time being, he was just glad to know why a part of him did not want to move—it was because he couldn't.

He heard her speak to him. He blinked and returned his attention to her. "Oh, excuse me, I got a little lost in thought," he apologized. "What were you saying?"

"I asked where you're moving to."

Lucas smirked. "Hell." She gave him a look, but he ignored her. He did not respond when she asked him what he meant. He paid for his drink, then went back to his apartment to spend one last night there.

One last night on Earth—for the time being, anyway.

* * *

Author's note

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you will enjoy the other ones as well. Also, if you find any mistakes in the story, I would appreciate if you could help me fix them (let me know in a review or a PM).

One more note: _dragonlots_ , who was kind enough to review, pointed out that Ayani died in Somalia, while I mentioned she lived in Chicago. I didn't forget where Ayani died, I just didn't explain the situation clearly. Here's how I imagined it: In 2137, the Taylors were living in Somalia, but Lucas got accepted to college in Chicago. Given that he was just a kid at the time, Ayani did not want to send him halfway across the globe alone—so she went to Chicago with him (Taylor stayed in Somalia because of the war). However, since they were in Chicago only for his studies, Ayani and Lucas could and did go back to Somalia (to be with Taylor) for school breaks—which included the fateful August.


	2. Chapter 2

**((April 20th, 2143))**

It was early—again. And—once again—he just couldn't sleep anymore.

He got up, changed his clothes, then packed the ones he had slept in. He shuffled his feet to the bathroom. A short while later, he came back to look for the toothbrush he had packed the previous night, having not realized (surely due to his tiredness) that he would need it in the morning. He found it after four minutes of rummaging his bag, right after he had decided to stop looking for it and to instead burn the backpack with all its contents. Finding it satisfied him enough to make him forget about his desire for destruction. He walked off to brush his teeth without burning anything.

He ate half a bowl of oatmeal and a granola bar, the only food left in the apartment. They both tasted rather bland, but he was used to that. After washing the bowl, he went through the apartment to make sure he had not forgotten to pack anything he would need. He opened every single cabinet, but all he found were things he had decided to leave behind. Things somebody else would get to own or throw away. Things he would never see again. A part of him was a little saddened by that—perhaps even jealous at the thought of someone else using them―, but another part of him wanted to roll his eyes. Those things did not matter, anyway.

He grabbed his bag and headed for the front door. Before leaving, he turned around and took a look down the short hallway. The door leading to the bathroom was in front of him. Two doors of the bedrooms were on his right, while the entrance to the living area connected with the kitchen was on his left. He had gotten to know the place well over the years, it being the longest-lasting home he had ever had. …although he was not sure if it had really been a _home_ after his mother's death. _'I wish I could say I'll miss you,'_ he mentally told the apartment. Afterwards, he walked through the door for the last time in his life.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

It was almost 9 o'clock in the evening. The sun had gone down an hour earlier. He had spent the past twelve hours at Hope Plaza, preparing for the pilgrimage. He was tired. His head hurt a bit, too. He needed to take a break, to sit down and close his eyes for a while. He did not do that, though. In fact, he was glad he had been kept busy. It had left him with no time to worry about his upcoming journey.

"Initiate dilation," the chief engineer ordered.

Dr. Lucas Taylor looked up from his plex and out of the window of the control room he was standing in. The series of rings that was Hope Plaza's terminus had already been emitting light, but it was nothing compared to the glare that appeared at that moment. Instinctively, he squinted his eyes.

A few seconds later, the light had either dimmed a bit or his eyes had grown accustomed to it (or both). He looked down at the numbers on his plex, then back up at the portal. He smiled. "Beautiful," he uttered to himself.

"Terra Nova, this is Hope Plaza speaking," one of the men behind him said to a communication device. "Do you all read us? Over."

There was a moment of silence, then the comm responded, "Hope Plaza, this is Terra Nova, Commander Taylor speaking." Lucas turned around as soon as he took in who that was. He had not seen—or heard—his father in four entire months. He stared at the comm, sucking in his lips and swallowing the frustration he felt upon hearing the old voice. "We all read you. Over."

"We read you as well, but the signal seems weaker than the last time."

"We are at the same spot where the portal opened last time. Over."

"Start driving and we'll see if the signal grows."

Because that was Hope Plaza's only way to figure out where the fracture would open—have people on the other side drive in different directions and see which one would make the signal stronger. It would not lead them to the exact spot of the portal's location, but it would help them come closer. They had to know if the area was safe, lest the incoming pilgrims walk straight into a dinosaur's nest.

Lucas went to the other side of the room to where the comm was. A hologram of multiple bars was floating above the table that held it. The bars showed how strong signals to multiple communication devices in Terra Nova were. Each bar was labeled with the direction in which the holder of the comm was designated to drive. According to Lucas's calculations (ones he had only shared with _his employers_ and not the people in the room), comm #2 would be the lucky one. He could not wait to see if he was right. He was not entirely sure about it, but he was eager to find out the truth.

"So how's the weather in Terra Nova?" a man standing by the table asked through the comm.

"Well, it's not that bad," Taylor replied. "It's raining now, but it's starting to thin out."

Of course it would be raining on the day Lucas would go there. He should have expected that.

"We actually saw a rainbow on our way here, a beautiful one."

Lucas sighed. Rainbows or not, it was still raining.

He did not listen to the rest of the conversation. He walked back to the window he had been looking out of before. He could see a long line of pilgrims there: soldiers, builders, farmers, scientists, doctors, all the people Terra Nova needed. They were idly standing in front of the portal, waiting for the permission to go. Lucas had tried counting them before, but they had not stood still and he had lost track of which ones he had counted. He had not cared enough to try again.

He stepped over to the nearest table, looking at the holographic numbers there. He inhaled, then said to Ryers, the man standing next to him, "Listen, I know we disagreed on this, but I have an idea."

"You just can't take no for an answer, can you?" Ryers remarked.

"That is _not—_ " he started, raising his voice a bit, but stopped himself when Ryers gave him a look. He gave a chuckle, then took a deep breath while stroking his chin with his hand. "Okay," he said calmly, "that _might_ be true, but hear me out: why don't all of us here take a vote?"

"A vote?"

"We are in a supposedly democratic country, aren't we?"

Ryers sighed. "Fine. Let's take a vote."

Less than a minute later, Lucas had gathered everyone from the room who had seen his presentation. "All right, you saw my math yesterday. I say there's no use wasting this much power on the portal. In fact, I think it would be _safer_ to turn it down a notch. Not turn it _off_ , just turn it _down_. _Unfortunately_ ," he said, glancing at Ryers, "some think—no clue why—it would be dangerous to do so."

The engineer said, "If we turn it down just a little too much—"

"Which we won't," Lucas cut in.

"—which we might—"

"Which we might but won't."

"—we risk cutting the portal off."

"But if we _don't_ turn it down, we risk overloading the portal, which would be even worse," Lucas concluded. "Now, show of hands—who thinks it's a good idea to turn the power down a notch?" He counted the raised arms and proceeded to smile. "Eight out of fifteen, that's the bigger half." He turned to look at Ryers, an annoying grin on his face. "I win."

"Only by one vote."

"That counts."

"All right, let's do it your way," Ryers relented. He looked over his shoulder at three people standing near their main communication device. "Let them know the signals are going to drop."

Lucas gave a nod and, still smiling, went to do as he had been told. "Hey," he spoke up, getting the attention of the three. "Just so you know, we're going to turn down the power a bit, so each signal is going to go down now. Don't worry, you won't lose them completely. They will only be a little weaker."

"Hey! Hey, I know that voice!" his father said through the comm. "Lucas?"

The young man's smile immediately froze. He had not realized the commander would hear him speak. He glanced down at the ground, shifting his weight on his feet. "Hey, Dad," he said lowly, not bothering to feign any excitement.

"Hi!" Taylor's voice, on the contrary, did sound excited. It was weird. Lucas furrowed his brows. "It's so nice to hear you," the father claimed.

"Yeah, really nice…" Lucas mumbled.

"How've you been?"

"Um…" The youth paused, wondering whether the old man expected something other than the usual 'fine' answer. In the end, he replied, "Well, I have not seen you in a few months, so I've actually been doing really great."

Surprisingly to Lucas, he could hear Taylor laugh at that. "Good to know you miss me so much," he said through the comm. When Lucas did not respond, he asked, "Hey, how's it looking with your recruitment? Last I heard, they were considering letting you come on the third pilgrimage, but they weren't sure for some reason."

Lucas smirked for a moment, then quickly put on a serious face as though Taylor could see it. "Uh, yeah. Listen, I don't know how to tell you this, but…" He took in a breath, then said, "They offered to recruit me, but I declined." The people around him gave him confused looks. He grinned, then puckered his lips and held his index finger in front of them, wordlessly asking them to stay quiet.

There was silence on the other side. After a beat, Taylor responded, "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"No, it's not," Lucas replied, his voice dead-serious. "Look, I know that _you_ wanted me to come to Terra Nova, but… Frankly, I never wanted to go. My home is here, Dad, in 2143. I'm sorry, but I love Chicago. I have a great job here, I have friends here… I've built a nice life for myself here, and I don't want to abandon it for some place where I could get eaten by a dinosaur. That's your destiny, not mine. I don't want to abandon my home. I'm sorry, Dad, I know you'll hate me for this, but I just can't go."

"Someone please tell me he's kidding," the commander said. Lucas had to fight hard not to laugh as he imagined how frustrated the man must have looked.

"He's kidding," a woman standing next to Lucas confirmed.

The teenager frowned. "Hey!"

"Sorry."

Lucas chuckled, shaking his head. "Okay, I was kidding," he admitted.

"So were you recruited?" Taylor asked, and his voice suddenly sounded much more cheerful. "Are you going to come on the third pilgrimage?"

"Actually," Lucas answered, "I'm going to come on the second."

"Wait, the second? But that's _this_ pilgrimage!" the father said, surprised. "I thought they weren't going to start sending families until the next one."

"Yes, but I was not recruited as a family member. I was recruited as a scientist," Lucas claimed. It was only partially true. Hope Plaza had recruited him as a scientist. His secret employers (who had convinced Hope Plaza to recruit him) had given him the job because he was both.

"So you're coming _today_?" the commander questioned.

"Apparently."

"Did you hear that?" Taylor said, and Lucas understood he was not talking to him but to the other comm‑holders. "Did you all hear that?"

"We heard," a male voice confirmed.

"My boy is coming!"

"Yup," the same male voice replied.

Lucas furrowed his brows. There was something about his father's voice he found odd. He knew Taylor wanted him to go to Terra Nova (for reasons he did not fully understand), but the old man sounded so… excited. Happy, even. He was no longer used to hearing his father speak like that, especially when talking to or about him. Had Taylor gone insane?

Perhaps the commander was faking it. After all, most fathers would be happy to know their child was recruited for the Terra Nova project. Surely Taylor did not want to make his lack of paternal love publicly known. Lucas fidgeted, glancing down. "Listen," he spoke up, "I got to get back to work here, so I'll see you later, all right?" He did not wait for a response. He turned around and walked back to Ryers before his father could say a word.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

It turned out he was right—comm #2 was the one heading in the right direction. It had stopped raining in Terra Nova, too. Lucas was happy to see things working out for him.

After a short while, Hope Plaza deemed Terra Novans must have been 'close enough' and that the area was 'safe enough.' The first one of the pilgrims, a member of the military, walked through the portal. The man carried a locator, which helped Terra Novans find the exact spot where he was. Only a couple of minutes later, other pilgrims followed. The long line of people in front of the portal quickly became short.

"Dr. Lucas Taylor?" the young man heard somebody say. He turned around to find a man dressed as a security officer looking at him. "It's time to go."

"Right." Lucas took in a breath. He glanced around as though he was looking for something, or perhaps trying to memorize the place before he would leave. He gazed out of the window at the portal, watching as more pilgrims walked through. He wondered what it felt like. He had heard warnings of excessive oxygen, of disorientation and even possible nausea. Traveling to the supposed paradise did not sound like a pleasant experience. On the other hand, he had also heard that all the pilgrims had managed to adjust quickly. He did not know how quickly, but—

"Good luck," Dan, standing right next to the youth, brought his attention back to the room.

"Right. Thanks," Lucas mumbled. He quickly checked the plex in his hand, then went to the backpack he had sat on the ground. He pulled out a device that looked like a small, black box with a screen and a few buttons. He fiddled with a couple of them, then stuffed it into his bag. He set his plex down to put the pack on his back, then grabbed it again. He looked at a couple of his colleagues. "Hey, don't forget to send me all the data you can before closing the portal."

"Don't worry, we will."

Worry? He was not worried! Maybe a little bit, but—

"Look, we really have to go," the guard said.

 _'Geez, impatient much?'_ Lucas thought, frowning. Nevertheless, he went toward the man. After a brief goodbye addressed to the people in the room, the two of them walked out.

They headed for the portal together. Lucas knew the way, of course, but it had been required for some security reason or another that he stay in the company of a security member. They passed a few guards, each of which eyed them but let them go without a word after realizing who they were. One of them was a man Lucas knew—not from Hope Plaza, but from his _other_ employment. Upon seeing each other, the man gave Lucas a nod, smiling at him as if to reassure him he had made the right choice. Lucas returned the nod, but he did not smile back.

When they arrived to the long bridge that led to the fracture, the guard informed Lucas he was to go there alone. The young man looked in the direction of the portal. Only three pilgrims were in front of it, everyone else had already gone through. Lucas frowned. He began to walk rather swiftly. He did not want to make Hope Plaza wait.

One of the three at the front, a woman, walked through the portal. It was strange to watch her go. One second, she was there, her figure shadowy but visible; then she took one more step, and bright light consumed her like a wide-open mouth. He slowed down upon seeing it. He wondered what the sensation was like. Did it feel special? Did it hurt? Or was the sensation undetectable? He had heard of people feeling sick after walking to the other side, although he did not know if that was only because of the different air or if the portal played a part in that.

Another person disappeared behind the light. Noting the distance between himself and the portal, he sped up his pace. He trotted forward while wondering just why they'd had to make the bridge so damn long…

The last remaining pilgrim in front of him walked through the portal. It was his turn. He was the only one who was meant to be on the second pilgrimage and had not gone through the portal yet. Nobody else would follow him to the other side. Once he would walk through, the people in Hope Plaza's control room would exchange a few parting words with Terra Novans, and the fracture would be closed off. Afterwards, he would be stuck alone on another planet for an indefinite amount of time.

To be fair, he would not be _alone_ per se. His father was going to be there (yippee…), as well as some people he barely knew and people he did not know at all. His employers, however, would still be on Earth. In Terra Nova, he would have no way to contact them if anything went wrong, no way to ask for their help. Not until he would figure out how to do what Hope Plaza was sending him there to do, anyway. He did not know how long that would take. If something were to happen before then… If, god forbid, it turned out he was not able to do the job… Oh, nonsense! He knew it was possible to make it happen; he was not sure _how_ it could be done, but he was certain it could. He would figure it out. He did not know when, but he would. He would succeed in contacting his employers. He would succeed in reversing the portal. He would succeed in turning his life around, and he would not rest until then. After that, everything would be great. A few months or a couple of years of being stuck with his father were more than worth it.

He finally reached the portal. He was a bit out of breath, but he had managed to get there only a moment after the last pilgrim had left. Ten, fifteen seconds later at most, surely. In spite of that, his heart was pounding as though he had run a marathon. The bright, blinding light was so close to him it hurt his pupils; he had to fight to keep his eyes open. And it was windy there, too, for some reason. That was weird.

He had wanted to go straight through the fracture, but he could not help stopping. He needed to take one last look at Hope Plaza before he would leave. He could feel that the hand in which he was carrying his plex was a bit sweaty. He _did_ feel as though he had made the right choice, he did. Joining his employers and going to Terra Nova was what he had to do. Still, he was nervous. He had a big journey ahead of him, one he would not be able to back out from. He wondered if his father had been worried about going to Terra Nova… Nah, who was he kidding? His father did not even know what the word 'worry' meant. Being a brave, courageous soldier, he had probably run through the portal without looking back.

Lucas turned to the fracture. _'This is it,'_ he thought. He inhaled, then stopped breathing. He did not really think about it; it was instinctive, much like holding one's breath when going underwater. He took a step forward, then another, and then he found himself in the light. The sensation was… a bit strange. It felt like he was walking through _something_ , but… he was not sure what the 'something' was. It was barely detectable, like walking through thick fog. Cold wind was blowing against his skin. His eyes were open, but he could not see anything. His feet were heavy, but he walked on.

Then the blinding light around him disappeared.

* * *

Author's note

Just to let you know, I originally posted the first chapter of this story without author's note at the end, but (in response to a review I received) I added one a few minutes ago. If you had read the first chapter before I uploaded this one, you might be interested in going back to read it.


	3. Chapter 3

**((Circa 85 million BC. Actually, still April 20th, 2143, just on a different planet))**

 _Then the blinding light around him disappeared._

Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by a whole lot of people and even more trees. Some of the people carried bags. Some wore uniforms. Some had breathing masks. And, oh, god, there were _so many_ _trees_! And they were so green and full of leaves… And the light there was so bright…

Bright—the fracture. He had to check the data. He had work to do. He hastily looked at his plex. New numbers and symbols were being added there each second. He looked back over his shoulder at the portal, slowly letting out the breath he was holding.

"Lucas!" He recognized the voice more easily than he wished he had. Biting his lip, he took in a deep breath of frustration—only to discover how uncomfortable that was, and not only because the air smelled funny. It stung in his lungs. He took a step back, his free hand going up to his chest. The air that was supposed to be clean and perfect and wonderful stung and made his chest hurt. He did not know what he found surprising about that; after all, he had been warned he would need to adjust. Perhaps it was the intensity of the pain and cramping he had received from one single intake. To make things worse, having forgotten about the advice to take shallow breaths and having seemingly lost common sense, he exhaled the evil, stabbing air, only to inhale almost as deeply as he had before. And, once more, he found himself surprised by the discomfort.

His upper-body bended forward a bit, and he let his hand drop. He gave a quick look in the direction where his father's voice had called out for him. There was some distance between them, but the old man was swiftly walking toward him. He breathed out and in. A grimace found its way to his face. He glanced back over his shoulder as the portal disappeared. He looked down at his plex and saw the numbers stop growing. He breathed out and in again.

Suddenly, before he realized how close to him his father had come, he felt the old man's arms wrap around him (and the bag on his back). Lucas blinked; he had not expected the welcome to be as warm as it appeared to be. Normally, he would have pushed his father away. Instead, because he was in pain and confused, he let Taylor pull him into a hug. He did not return the embrace (his arms were limp by his sides), but he practically leaned onto his father. And (one would think he was acting stupid on purpose, but he wasn't) he continued to over-breathe.

He heard his father say something to him. It was something about how glad he was Lucas had made it and got to come there or something. Rather than his words, he focused on the fact that the sound was a little muffled. His ears felt clogged for some reason. He turned his wide eyes around, noting that the trees farther away seemed a bit fuzzy, smudged. His head was spinning. His heartbeat was heavy yet slow. And his stomach… It did not feel good. It was not calm anymore. He was queasy. And he _kept on breathing like before_.

He felt his father's embrace tighten. Taylor's body was pressed against his own—and against his threatening stomach. Lucas closed his eyes, sucking in his lips for a moment. "Let go or I'm gonna heave on your back," he mumbled into his father's shoulder.

Immediately, the commander released his son. He narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you saying that because you hate hugging me," he asked, "or because going through the portal made you sick?" Lucas did not reply, but he did not have to. When Taylor took in how pale the kid looked, he turned around and called over a man who wore a nurse uniform.

Lucas really was not sure if he was going to puke. He felt like he might. His father took hold of his plex to free his hand. With a frown on his face, the boy bended over and rested his hands on his knees. Taylor gave him a concerned look, but he did not care. All he cared about was the pain he was in.

Only two seconds later, the nurse Taylor had called was by his side. The man held something that looked like a breathing mask close to his mouth. "Shallow breaths," the nurse instructed, "take shallow breaths, please." Lucas finally realized his mistake. He tried to do as he had been told, even though, for some reason, his instinct was to do the opposite.

After a moment, the nurse removed the mask. "Are you dizzy?" he asked. Mutely, Lucas nodded, closing his eyes. "Let's sit down for a while, okay?" Lucas looked up at the man, then glanced at his father. "Just sit right here on the ground, it's all right." The nurse held Lucas by the shoulders and guided him down. It was only then that Lucas noticed there was grass below his feet. It was green and looked fresher than any grass he had seen before. It was also quite wet, as was the dirt underneath.

The nurse held the mask up to his lips. "Shallow breaths," he reminded, noting that Lucas was starting to break that rule again. The man looked at Commander Taylor, who was hovering over his son. "Help him take the bag off, please," he requested. Taylor did so right away, then put Lucas's plex inside.

The mask was put away for a moment so Lucas could ease into Terra Novan atmosphere. Taylor took the opportunity to ask Lucas if he was feeling okay. Lucas looked at him but did not respond. The only words in his head were 'shallow breaths.' He kept repeating them in his mind like a mantra, worried that, if he were to stop, he would start to hyperventilate.

As the nurse put the mask back on, a female voice called Commander Taylor over. Lucas recognized the voice—it belonged to Lieutenant Washington, Taylor's second‑in‑command as well as a friend. Lucas watched his father step away so he could deal with whatever it was Wash had called him over for.

He did not know how long he was just sitting on the ground, having a mask repeatedly put on and off his face. His father returned to his side after a while. Lucas glanced around. It was a truly funny place he was at. There was so much green everywhere… As far as he could see, the ground was covered in grass. There were bushes and ferns moving in the wind as though they were waving to the newcomers. The trees around looked giant, strong and solid. The whole scene was illuminated by sunlight coming from above. Everything he saw appeared alive and colorful… It looked strange. Pretty but freaky at the same time. Almost threatening.

He could hear muffled sounds of distant wildlife as well as not-so-distant human voices. He inspected the group of people in front of him—and realized nobody else had masks on anymore. Nobody else was being tended to by nurses anymore. Everybody else was just standing around, some talking, a few of them staring at Lucas. Why were they staring at him? Did they have nothing better to do?

They didn't. They were waiting for him.

On the one hand, it made sense he would be the last one ready to go. After all, he had been the last one to arrive. On the other hand, it might have meant that he was taking an abnormally long time to adjust. He did not want to be taking an abnormally long time to adjust.

He pushed the nurse's hand away from his face. "Are you feeling better?" the man asked him.

"Yeah," Lucas confirmed. It was not even a lie.

"Are you nauseous?"

"No," Lucas denied without skipping a beat. That one was a lie.

"Dizzy? Headache?"

"No," Lucas lied again.

"Can you breathe well? Don't breathe too deeply, just take a normal breath. How does it feel?"

It felt weird and the place smelled strange. "Fine. Normal."

"All right." The nurse stood up, and Lucas moved to get on his feet, too. He lurched a little bit, but the nurse and his father grabbed him. "Easy," the nurse said. "Are you dizzy now?"

"No, no, I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just stood up too fast. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" his father asked. The boy still seemed pale to him.

Lucas gave a nod. "Positive." He swallowed hard and heard his ears pop. With a little frown on his face, he started to dust off the back of his pants. Fortunately, he wore dark trousers that day, making the dirt on them less obvious.

He bended over to reach for the bag his father had taken from him. He opened it and pulled out the small, black box. He pressed a button and turned a couple of switches, then put it back inside. He ignored his plex for the time being. He did not want to make people wait for him any longer, plus he was not in the mood to work, anyway. It could wait for a day or two.

He picked up the backpack and put it on. His father straightened his posture. "Ready?" the old man questioned. Lucas nodded. Taylor turned to the group. "All right, is everybody ready? All the vehicles loaded up?" Upon receiving a positive response, he gave the command to go.

Naturally, Taylor headed forward to lead the way. He asked his son to walk with him. Lucas complied with the request. Not that he wanted to, but he was too busy thinking about 'shallow breaths' to come up with an argument as to why he should not be by his side.

As they started to walk through the jungle, Taylor leaned over to Lucas. "So what do you think about Terra Nova?" he inquired, smiling.

Lucas stared at his father. _'Shallow breaths. Shallow breaths.'_ It took him a moment before he realized what Taylor had asked him about. What kind of answer did the man expect? Was Lucas supposed to lie and say he found it amazing? Was he supposed to be honest and say he was not exactly thrilled about a world that made him feel sick as soon as he stepped in? In the end, Lucas just shrugged.

Surprisingly, Taylor seemed satisfied with that answer. "I know, it's huge," he said, gazing around. "I can't even begin to describe how I felt when I first stepped through the portal and saw all this…"

Taylor looked at his son, expecting him to respond. The only thing Lucas managed to come up with was a simple "Yeah."

Taylor took in the way his shoulders were slouched. The look on the boy's face seemed almost scared. "I know that coming to a new world can be overwhelming," the commander said, "but I promise, once the shock wears off, you'll see how beautiful this place is. You can't not like it here; this is a wonderland."

Lucas hoped his father was wrong. He _really_ hoped his father was wrong. He could not afford to like it there, given that he was there to destroy it. However, he could not admit that as to avoid raising suspicion, and so he replied with a single word: "Okay."

Taylor smiled. "You have no idea how glad I am you are here to see this place."

The old man continued speaking, but Lucas stopped listening when he realized he had forgotten to keep taking shallow breaths. He also realized that breathing normally did not feel so bad. He would not describe the sensation as _good_ , but it was nowhere near as uncomfortable as his first intake of Terra Novan air. That was an improvement, he supposed. Not that he wanted to have a reason to like it in Terra Nova, but his stay there was going to be easier to handle if he could breathe and not feel as though his lungs were full of needles.

"Hey, are you really okay?" Taylor's questioning voice attracted Lucas's attention. The commander's eyes were a bit narrowed. The studying gaze made Lucas tense up. "If you need it, I can ask the nurse to—"

"No, no, don't worry," he insisted. "I told you I'm okay."

"I know, you just look a bit—"

"I'm fine, Dad," Lucas interrupted. "See? I'm smiling." He sent his father a forced grin. "Would I be smiling if I were feeling sick?"

Taylor sighed. "If you say so…" Lucas kept the grin on for a few seconds longer, then let it slide into a more-or-less neutral expression.

While walking, Lucas took a look around the place. Being there felt strange, dizzy. Seeing the light getting to him through trees. Smelling the grass on the ground. Hearing the busy wildlife. Breathing the air full of oxygen. Knowing he would have to stay there—on that funny planet, in a colony led by _his father_ —while trying to find a way back home.

He gazed up. Through the tops of trees that were obscuring his view, he saw patches of blue. The sky. The color was so vivid and bright, it reminded him of old photos from the time his parents were born. Of paintings that could be found in art galleries. He had always assumed those images were exaggerated, their blue tones made richer for the sake of being aesthetically pleasing. Now that he could see it live, for the first time he realized the pictures were true.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?" Taylor said to his son, having noticed where the boy was staring. Lucas quickly glanced away as though he was ashamed of being caught. The father continued, "Wait until you see the sky when we get out of the jungle. The miles and miles of blue, it's one of the most beautiful sights you could imagine."

Once again, Taylor seemed to be expecting a response to that. Lucas replied with a single nod. "Hmm."

Taylor gave his son a look. "My, are you chatty today!" he said. "Look, I know you keep saying you're fine, but if—"

"No," the young man cut in. What was with his father that day? Why did Taylor keep questioning him? Not that he was wrong, but he was not usually so observant. Despite the fact Lucas had been sure his father would always be oblivious to all of his feelings, Taylor had noticed his discomfort. The teen shook his head. "No buts, no ifs—I just don't know what to say. I mean…" He paused, trying to find the right words. "I just came here now, and I'm… I'm confused, you know? This is all new to me. I don't know what to say about it yet."

"I suppose you're right. This was no small journey," Taylor agreed, remembering his own trip there. As opposed to Lucas, however, the father had not even had the opportunity to say anything to anyone after coming there. He had been utterly alone. "I just want to talk to you, you know?" Taylor said. "I haven't seen you in months."

Lucas glanced away. Good god, he would have to converse with his father, wouldn't he? The price he would have to pay to make it seem as though he was not sick! Of course, he would not have wanted to talk even if he were feeling okay. Unfortunately, the old man might think Lucas refused out of illness—he could not let him think that. He could not let his father think he was too weak to handle being there.

Well, if he was going to talk to his father, he was going to do it on his own terms. And given his sick and irritated mood, those terms were not going to be pleasant. "To be honest, I barely noticed you were gone," he told the commander—not because it was true, but because he wanted his annoyance to spread.

Lucas was not sure if Taylor failed to see the bait there or if he simply decided to ignore it. Whatever the reason, Taylor did not appear affected by the comment. "Well, I did notice you weren't _here_ ," the man said, "and I'm glad you are now." Taylor smiled at his son, prompting Lucas to frown instead.

Why did Taylor seem happy about Lucas being there? After all, the old man hated him. He should have been angered by the fact he would have to spend time (even if not a lot of time) with his son again. Seeing him so cheerful made no sense to Lucas. He had known Taylor had wanted him to come there, but he had expected a more neutral greeting, not one filled with joy and hugs.

"So, mister scientist," Taylor spoke up, interrupting Lucas's musing, "they recruited you to find a way to contact Hope Plaza while the portal is closed, huh?"

Hope Plaza had recruited him to find a way to contact Hope Plaza while the portal was closed because his employers—who had recruited him because he was the son of Terra Nova's potential leader as well as someone who (judging by his genius and his brilliant thesis) might have been able to make the fracture go both ways—had convinced them (on the basis of his genius and his brilliant thesis) that he might be able to find that way. No, he could not tell his father that. He decided to give a much shorter and less complicated answer: "Yeah."

Taylor gave a nod. "They said they might. I gave them your thesis to read last year, and from what I've heard, they were very impressed."

Lucas blinked. "Huh," he said simply, waiting for his father to ask what he had to say.

Taylor looked at his son. "What?"

"Funny you should give them my thesis, since you never bothered to read it yourself." There was more than just a hint of bitterness in the young man's voice, and he was not trying to hide it.

Taylor flattened his lips for a moment. "It's not like I would understand it, anyway," he defended himself. "You know that I tried reading it and couldn't get past the first few pages. It was too complicated. You're too smart for me, kid."

Lucas blinked again. "Huh."

"What?" Taylor asked.

The boy smirked. "You know, that is the first thing you said in years that I actually agree with. You _are_ too dull for me."

Surprisingly to Lucas, Taylor chuckled instead of being insulted. "Well, I'm glad to see you're feeling well enough to joke, peanut," he said, giving his son a pat on the shoulder.

'Peanut'? Had Taylor actually called him 'peanut'? He used to refer to him as that when Lucas was a child, but he had not called him that in years. His father was acting strange. He was not sure if the old man was pretending due to some ulterior motive, or if all the oxygen in the air had intoxicated him. Either way, it was odd.

Lucas forced a smile. He did not know what had put his father into a cheerful mood, but he knew the walk to the colony would take forever.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

He was not sure how long they had been walking. He wore a watch on his wrist, but he did not want to check it. He had looked at it once before, and it had prompted a tirade from his father: 'Oh, don't worry, we're not that far from the colony.' 'Are you tired? Do you need to take a break?' 'Dear god, are you so weak that you can't handle walking for a klick or two?!' Admittedly, he had not actually said the last thing, but his eyes had. Lucas mentally sighed. On the one hand, it had been reassuring to see the familiar look of despise (it was far less confusing than the cheerfulness), but on the other, he did not like feeling hated. In contrast with his eyes, Taylor's voice had somehow remained affectionate. (For a second, but only for a second, Taylor's voice had made Lucas wonder if perhaps he had only been imagining the despise, or if he had been mistaking it with… concern, perhaps? No, he would not mistake that. …would he? No. No.)

Taylor had been talking to him during most of the walk. Lucas had been trying to respond as much as he could, but he had not said nearly as much as his father had. Occasionally, Taylor would discuss something with some of his nearby soldiers. Lucas was grateful for each of those moments, as they allowed him to stop focusing on his father and rest his mind. He wished he would be able to rest his body as well; taking a nap would surely relieve his hurting head.

Suddenly, Taylor put his arm in front of Lucas. The youth stopped (along with all the other people behind them). He looked at his father, and then Taylor pointed to their right. In a distance, far enough to look small but close enough to be in his sight, a dinosaur was standing, sniffing something on the ground.

The dinosaur appeared little, but given that Lucas realized that was caused by the distance, he figured the creature must have been huge. "What is that?" he whispered toward his father, not wanting to be heard by the animal.

"That's an allosaur," Taylor explained, voice low. "They live in the area."

Lucas gave his father a look, shifting his weight on his feet. "Are they, uh…" He paused, glancing at the ground. He hated to admit it to himself, but seeing the animal made him nervous. Scared. "Are they carnivorous?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are we walking through this area?" That did not seem like a smart thing to do.

Taylor smiled as if it was amusing. "Because it's safer than walking through a slasher territory."

"Oh, so there is no safe place on this planet, huh? That, that is, that is great. I am _so_ glad I came here," Lucas said sarcastically.

"No, no, the colony's safe. It has a large fence and sonic mines and cannons all around. You don't have to worry."

"I'm not worried," Lucas protested, even though he was.

Taylor studied his son with his eyes. Lucas frowned, putting his hands in his pockets. "Well, you look a little worried," the father assessed.

"Well, I'm not," the boy insisted.

"Okay." Taylor chuckled. "Look, allosaurs aren't actually that dangerous. They're not that hard to scare off. You just shoot a gun a few times, you don't even have to aim, it'll run off. Unless they're in a group… But this one's alone, it's fine."

"If you say so…"

"Let's just keep on going."

And in spite of Taylor's claim that they were not 'that dangerous,' he still instructed his soldiers to keep an eye on the dinosaur and the other pilgrims not to make too much noise.

Lucas gave a small sigh. Living in Terra Nova was going to be interesting.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

Some of the new pilgrims started to complain about being tired. After being told that they were about half-way to the colony ('maybe two thirds,' according to Taylor), it was decided they would take a short break. Albeit he did not voice his feelings, Lucas was grateful for that. His head and stomach had gotten worse. He had spent the past few minutes wondering if he should keep trying to suppress it or give in and puke.

There was a big log of a fallen tree on the ground nearby. A few of the pilgrims went to sit on it and rest their feet. Lucas did the same. He sat on the end of the log, keeping some space between himself and two pilgrims next to him, who were engaged in a loud and boring conversation about plants. Meanwhile, his father went to discuss something with his soldiers.

Lucas slouched his shoulders, turning his gaze towards the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment. Once again, he started to take shallow breaths, hoping it would relieve his sickness. _'Shallow breaths. Shallow breaths. Shallow breaths.'_

It worked. He was not feeling completely all right, but he got better after a few minutes. While staring at the grass below, he heard approaching footsteps, followed by his father's voice: "Are you okay?"

Lucas looked up at him, taking a second to process what Taylor had said. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

The commander narrowed his eyes. "You look a bit… I don't know, sad," he claimed.

Lucas shook his head. "I'm not sad." Sick. A bit scared. Tired as well. But not sad.

"Okay," Taylor responded. "That's good. I was just worried that… maybe you wish you hadn't come here, that's all."

"Dad, if I hadn't wanted to come here, trust me, I wouldn't have," Lucas told him. "I was just joking when I said I didn't want it; you know that, right?"

"I know, I know," Taylor confirmed, nodding. "But you also said it a year ago, and—"

"That was a joke, too!" Lucas lied. It had not been a joke.

"Well, you said it twice back then. And I don't know about the first one, but you didn't seem to be in a joking mood the second time." Lucas sighed, rolling his eyes. He was about to argue—however, Taylor did not give him the window. "But you know what?" he said. "That doesn't matter anymore. If you say it was a joke, I'll believe you. The important thing is that you're here now, that's all I care about." The father smiled, giving his son a pat on the shoulder.

Lucas stared at his father, eyes slightly widened. "Wow. You _care_? I didn't realize you were capable of that." Taylor narrowed his eyes. Lucas's lips briefly turned into a smirk, then he sucked them in and glanced down as though he was ashamed. "Sorry, I'm just teasing you," he claimed.

"That's okay. I'm in a good mood now, so I'm going to let it slide. I don't want to start an argument and spoil the day."

"Really?" The boy sent his father a beaming grin. "Does that mean I can tease you as much as I want?"

"No," Taylor replied, raised his hand and booped Lucas's nose.

Lucas blinked. There was silence for a while before he found his voice again. "Did you just boop my nose?" he asked, giving Taylor a look that was clearly questioning the sanity of them both.

"Yes," Taylor said, smiling as though he was proud of it.

Lucas was quiet for a moment, glancing away. "I'm sorry, I have to ask," he said, looking back at his father, "are you high?"

"I'm not high, I'm just in a good mood. Today is a beautiful day, and all I want to do is enjoy having you here."

Lucas raised his eyebrows. "A beautiful day?"

"Very beautiful."

"Why?"

"Why?" Taylor repeated and furrowed his brows, not understanding why Lucas needed to ask. "Because you came," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Upon hearing the answer, his son furrowed his brows as well. "What?" Taylor asked, noting the look on the teenager's face.

"Why are you so happy about that?" Lucas asked.

"Because it means you won't be killed by pollution?" the commander said, voicing it as a question to show how strange it was that Lucas had not realized it on his own.

Lucas nodded. Of course—his father wanted him to live. And he was sure he knew the reason why: his mother. The woman his father loved. The woman who had given her life to save Lucas's. The woman whose death would become pointless if he were to die young. He understood why his father wanted to avoid his death; he just had not thought it would fill Taylor with so much joy that he would hug him and boop his nose and let his teasing comments slide.

"Let's be honest, son," Taylor spoke, "Earth is getting worse and worse each day. But here… Here we'll have another chance."

Lucas sighed. "A second chance for the human race," he said more to himself than to his father. There was no second chance for humanity on a planet roamed by dinosaurs, a planet where the air stung, a planet where only a few hundred people would get to live, a planet his employers would strip and destroy. "Right."

"Not just for the human race, I hope."

Lucas narrowed his eyes when he noticed Taylor's gaze. "What else is it supposed to be for?" That was all people had ever mentioned, as far he remembered.

Taylor, however, did not answer the question. He just smiled, then turned toward the rest of the group and asked if they were ready to set off. Lucas did not think much of it. After all, whatever it was Taylor was hoping for would be ruined as soon as he would finish his work.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

Later on, they walked out of the jungle and saw a road ahead of them that led to a large wooden fence. The colony. They were finally about the reach their destination. (He was grateful for that, not only because he was tired, but also because his bladder was starting to feel rather full.) The colony was not near enough for him to distinguish things clearly, but he could tell there were buildings behind the fence. In fact, Lucas was surprised to see just how many buildings there were. Considering Terra Nova had been founded only a few months earlier, he could tell the colonists had done an awful lot of work. A part of him admired their dedication and skill, while another part of him wanted to scoff. The colony would be destroyed once he would finish his job, anyway. All the effort people had put into building the place would eventually turn out to have been in vain.

While they walked, Taylor was gazing at the sky in awe, as though he had never seen it before. The sun had begun to set by then, and the sky was colored in marvelous shades of orange and red. "It's beautiful, don't you think?" he asked.

Lucas shrugged. He did not want to appear interested in his surroundings. He did not want to seem suspiciously hostile, but, at the same time, he did not want his father to think he liked being there with him. He was not willing to be bothered with putting the effort into pretending that was true. Besides, his head was still hurting a bit, and he was grumpy and wanted to take it out on someone. "I guess it's nice," he uttered in a tone as disinterested as he could produce.

Taylor turned to stare at Lucas; judging by the shock on the commander's face, the boy had just told a blasphemy. "How can you say it like that? It's not like you've ever seen anything like this before," Taylor replied. He wanted to make Lucas more excited about the amazing world he had gotten a chance to enter. He wanted his son to be as happy about being there as he was to have his son there.

"I've seen pictures," Lucas responded.

"Pictures! Pff!" Taylor chuckled, then lightly prodded Lucas's side with his elbow. "Come on, take a good look. Pictures are nothing compared to seeing it with your own eyes."

"It seems similar to me."

Taylor narrowed his eyes. "Are you teasing me again?" he asked. Lucas just shrugged, walking in silence. "Rascal." The boy smirked.

As they came closer to settlement, the front gate, made of giant wooden poles, rolled up. There were a few curious people standing behind, inspecting the newcomers and welcoming them in. Finally, people from the second pilgrimage entered the colony for the first time.

"Here we are," Commander Taylor said to the group. "Welcome to your new home, people." The pilgrims started to clap. Lucas did not as he did not even understand why they were clapping in the first place (because they got to see the colony? because Taylor had welcomed them? because they all suffered from some sort of restless hands syndrome?). He just stood there, hands in the pockets of his pants, glancing at the ground.

After Taylor gave a few instructions to his soldiers, people began to walk their separate ways. The commander turned to face his son, taking in a deep breath. "So," he spoke up, "this is where you're going to live from now on. You're going to share a house with me, but I suppose you knew that would happen."

"I expected nothing more from you," Lucas retorted.

Taylor half-jokingly pouted. "I'm glad to see you're so happy to be with your old man again," he replied dryly.

Lucas gave a smile, looking around and taking in all the buildings in sight. Some of them looked similar—walls that appeared to be made of yellowish or bluish poles, something that looked like dark blue, hard wood blinds, solar panels on roofs. "Eh, it's not like I'm not used to living with you," he said. There was a building on his right, a tall one, which, from his point of view, seemed to be only a solar-panel-covered roof with no house underneath. "Besides, if sharing a house with you is going to be anything like it was in the future…" He paused. The building in front of him (the only building directly behind the gate) looked strange as well, like some sort of a hut. "Well, let's be honest, we will not spend any time together, anyway." He looked at his father, who suddenly had a frown on his face. "It'll be just like living alone."

The father was silent for a moment. Lucas wondered if he had touched a nerve, but then Taylor smiled. "Well," he said, "let's hope we can change that. Come on, I'll show you the house."

Taylor guided Lucas west, to his right. They passed a few nearly identical houses, each with some green around (trees, bushes or flowers). Even from inside of the colony, he could still hear the wildlife from the surrounding jungle—mostly bird-like calls and screeches. The thought of predators being birds made him a bit nervous; after all, no matter how strong the fence was, birds could easily fly over it. In the end, he told himself that if the previous pilgrims were able to survive five months in the colony, surely it was not too dangerous there.

Their destination was not far from the main gate. They only walked for about five minutes, after which Taylor pointed at a yellow house with dark blue windows and solar panels on the roof, and he announced that was their home.

Taylor walked in and held the door open for his son. Lucas entered and took a look around. Walls were brown inside, and the floor was made of fairly light wood. On his left, there was a combination of a living area, kitchen and a dining room. There were no walls to separate them from each other or from the 'hallway' he was standing in at the moment. In the back on his left, there was a rather small, walled-off room with a single door leading inside. In front of him was a door that looked identical to the one he had just walked through, presumably leading outside. On his right, there was only a long wall with two sliding doors. One of the doors, the one closer to Lucas, was open. He peeked in from where he was standing and saw a bed pushed to the middle of the wall behind, a nightstand with a bedside lamp, and a closet, which was pushed against the wall that must have been shared with the other room on his right.

"This is my bedroom," Taylor informed his son when he noticed where Lucas was looking. "That one is for you," he said, pointing at the other door on Lucas's right. "That over there," he added, pointing at the walled-off room on Lucas's left, "is the bathroom."

The youth nodded. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go use it."

Taylor chuckled. "Go ahead," he said while Lucas was already taking off his backpack and putting it on the ground.

Lucas disappeared behind the door of the small room, then re-emerged a minute later. "Done?" Taylor asked, and Lucas nodded. "Listen, there are a couple of things I need to go take care of. I won't be gone long—half an hour, one hour tops, I promise." Lucas nodded, mentally scoffing as he knew Taylor had a tendency to break promises regarding time. "Maybe you can look around the house now, get acquainted with it, unpack your stuff, and then, when I come back, we can have dinner together and catch up, okay?"

Catch up? _'Oh, that is great,'_ Lucas thought sarcastically. He was _not_ looking forward to that. Nevertheless, he said, "Okay."

"Good. Oh, and you should probably change your pants because…" Taylor paused for a moment. Even though it was not clearly visible since his pants were dark and the dirt he had sat on was dark as well, he could tell they were not clean. "Well, they're dirty."

"Will do."

Afterwards, Taylor turned around and left Lucas alone with a simple 'I'll see you later.'

Lucas sighed. He picked up his backpack from the ground and went toward the closed door on his right. The door was translucent—not a clear see-through, but enough for him to see vague silhouettes of the furniture inside. The reason why it was made that way was beyond Lucas. At first he figured his father must have done that on purpose, to spite him and take away his privacy. Then again, the door to Taylor's bedroom was translucent as well. Perhaps it was simply the choice of whichever idiot built the house.

Frowning, he opened it and walked inside. Opposite to the door, there was a bed, its head pushed against the wall. The bed had a nightstand on each side; a table lamp stood on the one on his left, while the one on his right was empty. On his left, there was a wooden desk and a chair. On his right, there was a closet. It was a simple bedroom, but he did not need anything else (besides the things he had brought in his bag).

That was it, the room that was going to be his bedroom for an unknown amount of time. He knew he would move and leave the house behind one day, but he did not know how far away that day was.

He put his backpack on the ground next to the bed and opened it. His plex had been lazily stuffed inside. Shaking his head, he took it out and placed it on the floor. He would put it elsewhere later; first he had to change his trousers. He stuck his hands inside and tried to feel for the material of his clothing. He grasped the first one he found. He had to take out the black box and two shirts to pull it out, but he got it. He took off the pants he was wearing and threw them on the ground, then put on the other pair.

Sighing, he sat down onto the bed. It felt softer than his bed in Chicago. He liked that. It made him want to lie down, curl up into a ball and sleep off his headache. …Or maybe it was his headache (which had gotten better but was not gone yet) making him want to do that. He was not sure of the cause, but he was sure of the result.

 _'No, I can't,'_ he thought to himself. _'I have to unpack.'_ Perhaps he could lie down after unpacking, provided his father had not returned yet (he still did not want his father to know he was unwell). Taylor had said he would come back in half an hour to one hour—which, the son figured, meant he would come back no sooner than in an hour and a half. That was bound to leave Lucas with enough time for resting once he was done unpacking.

…Unless he rested first and unpacked later.

Eh, why not? He had plenty of time.

He lay down. Just for a moment, he told himself. He would not even sleep, only rest his head. He would get up and unpack in a short while. Ten, fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes, tops. …Okay, thirty minutes, tops. The bed was really comfortable.

He reached down for the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, then covered his body. He closed his eyes, ignoring his pain and focusing his mind on the coziness that was engulfing him. Just for a moment…

Within three minutes, he fell asleep.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

The sun had already set by the time Commander Taylor returned home. The man turned on the light in the main room, then walked toward his son's bedroom to inform him he was back. He noticed there was no light coming from the room and briefly wondered if the boy was in there. As he entered, he found Lucas in bed. The youth did not react to Taylor's arrival at all. He was lying on his right side, curled up under a blanket, sound asleep. Taylor took note of the backpack that was sitting on the ground, almost as full as when he had left. A couple of objects from the bag as well as Lucas's dirty pants were on the floor next to it. The kid had clearly not done much unpacking before falling asleep.

It was not all that surprising when he thought about it. Not only was the journey to a new world a lot to take on its own, but the time was different, too. Even though night had barely started in Terra Nova, it was midnight in Chicago. It was no wonder Lucas was tired, Taylor figured, when he considered the 'jet lag' involved. _'Well, more like 'portal lag,''_ he thought to himself.

He quietly stepped closer to the bed, taking a look at his son's face. The boy was fast asleep, there was no doubt about that. His eyes were closed, his mouth parted, and Taylor could hear his calm, rhythmic breathing.

A smile found its way onto Taylor's lips. There was his little boy, his only child, grown‑up yet still his kid. And he was in his house in Terra Nova. The past few years had been rough for their relationship, but Taylor had hope that it would change. That they would stop clashing and be the proper father and son they were supposed to be. It would get to happen because his son had joined him in Terra Nova. Taylor's biggest dream was going to come true. The two would live there together, both fighting to help the world survive. Each fighting in his own way, of course—Taylor in the physical and supervising way, Lucas with his scientific research.

After all, that was why Lucas had gotten recruited—to be one of Terra Nova's scientists. One of the few scientists that lived there. Only a couple of hundred people from the world had been recruited for the Terra Nova project so far, and his son was one of them. One of the mere couple of hundred people from the whole wide world. Because, in spite of his young age, the kid was a brilliant physicist. A _genius_. The boy that Taylor had brought up was a genius, and it had secured him a ticket for the second pilgrimage to Terra Nova. It had secured him an opportunity to escape from a dying world and live a full, long and meaningful life. Life on a new, fresh planet where he would have a chance to survive as well as to help the human race survive. On a planet where the two of them would have another chance to be a family. The kid had been given that opportunity, and not because he was the commander's son, but because of his own accomplishments. In Hope Plaza's eyes, he had deserved it in his own right. _'My peanut… I am so proud of you,'_ Taylor thought but did not say as he did not want to wake Lucas up.

The father extended his arm. With his fingers, careful not to touch his skin, he fondled the sleeping boy's hair (soft, fluffy and a little too grown‑out in Taylor's opinion, even though it was by no means long). Lucas stirred after a moment, but he did not awaken. He just outstretched his legs, then pulled them up again and turned his head more to the right, burying his face in the pillow.

Taylor turned away. He picked up the dirty pants from the ground, then tiptoed to the doorway. Before leaving, he took one last look at his son. _'We'll have enough time to catch up tomorrow,'_ the father thought. He walked out of the young man's bedroom and silently closed the door.

* * *

Author's note

Hiya, folks! Sorry that this chapter is a bit longer than the first two. …combined. Oops?

Poor Lucas has a translucent door! Frankly, I hate the end of the episode _Instinct_ , when Jim and Elisabeth are about to do you-know-what and you can see their silhouettes on the door. What if the kids wake up? What are they going to see? Poor little Zoe will be traumatized. :D

Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and big thanks to anyone kind enough to review. See ya with the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**((** **Circa 85— I mean,** **April 21st, 2143))**

He had fallen asleep. He figured that out upon waking up. When he opened his eyes and saw bright daylight, he realized he must have been resting for much longer than intended—and that his father must have returned by then.

He got up from the bed. His head was still hurting, but less than the previous day. It seemed that sleeping had helped, as he had anticipated. Yawning and wiping sleep from his eyes, he shuffled his feet towards the door of his new bedroom. He opened it and found his father sitting behind the dining table, which held a plate of an omelet with fruit and a glass of juice.

The old man looked up at him and smiled—not in happiness or love, but in amusement. "Well, hello, sleeping beauty," the father greeted, taking in his son's mussed hair, small eyes and tired frown.

"Did I sleep through the whole night," Lucas asked, "or is this planet so freaky there's daylight after sunset?" He was sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear a confirmation.

Taylor chuckled. "No, you slept, all right," he replied. Lucas dragged himself to the table and slumped down onto the chair opposite to his father. "Actually, you slept for almost twelve hours." Lucas sighed and rubbed his face. Taylor frowned. "You don't look very rested for someone who slept that long," he noted.

"In my defense," the young man said, "I was _really_ tired." And sick. But he did not tell his father that. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Well, lucky for you, today is Sunday, so you can rest as much as you need."

"Hmm."

"Hey, I was thinking maybe we could spend the day together. Catch up on what's happened since we last saw each other. Maybe I could give you a tour of the colony. I mean, it's not that big, but you should know where to find stuff."

Without saying a word, Lucas stood up.

"I didn't mean right now."

"I'm going to the bathroom," Lucas explained.

"Oh, right."

Lucas walked off. Two minutes and one flush of a toilet later, he came back. When he sat down, he realized Taylor had put a glass of milk-like liquid on his side of the table. "What's that?"

"Your breakfast," Taylor replied simply.

He took a closer look at the liquid. It seemed just like milk to his eyes, but when he leaned in and its scent hit his nose, he could tell it was something else. It smelled too funny to be milk. "Wait, I read something about that in the manual they gave me," he said. He remembered it mentioning a drink specifically designed for easier enzyme consumption… or something along those lines. "Is this the only thing I'm allowed to have now?"

"Yup. Just until you get used to the food we have here."

"How long will that be, again?"

"You have to drink this for three days exclusively. Then you can ease into real food as you see fit."

Lucas gave a nod. He picked up the glass and took a mere sip of the liquid inside. With a frown on his face, he lowered the glass. "That tastes awful." For something that looked like milk, it was quite sour. It suited the smell, though.

"That's just because you're not used to it, yet."

"Hmph." Lucas took another sip and could not help scrunching up his face. He put the glass down. He was not looking forward to drinking it for the next three days, but he figured there must have been a reason why it was required. Then he realized something. He parted his lips and glanced aside. With a thoughtful expression on his face, he looked at his father and watched him eat. "Dad, you didn't…" he spoke up hesitantly, "you didn't need this milk when you came to Terra Nova… did you?"

"We didn't have it back then. The recipe was designed after I came."

"So why do _I_ need it?" Lucas asked. "I mean, if you got used to food without it, why should—"

"It's not that you _need_ it per se. It's just meant to make the transition easier for you," the father explained.

"Was it hard for you?"

"Well, it was not as easy as it would've been if I'd had this," Taylor replied, pointing at the glass.

Lucas sighed. He just sat there for a few seconds, pondering what his father had told him. Afterwards, he reached out and grabbed a red grape from Taylor's plate. Before the latter could stop him, he shoved it in his mouth.

"Hey!" Taylor said. "You're not supposed to eat that."

"Yeah, I can see why. This is even worse than the milk," Lucas grumbled with the fruit still in his mouth. He chewed it slowly, a grimace making its way to his face. After he swallowed, he extended his arm to take another one. His father slapped his hand away. Lucas frowned. "Come on, don't be so stingy!"

"I'm not stingy, you're just not supposed to eat that." The commander pushed Lucas's glass closer to him. "Drink this if you're hungry."

Lucas rolled his eyes, then leaned back. He stared at the glass in silence, but he did not pick it up. His head throbbed suddenly, making him wince. Fortunately for him, Taylor, having returned attention to his own breakfast, did not notice.

"So," Taylor spoke up, taking a grape himself, "how have you been since we last saw each other?"

"You mean since I went to the bathroom?" Lucas asked, even though he knew what Taylor meant. The pain in his head started to ease. That was good.

"No, I mean since I left for Terra Nova."

Lucas shrugged, quiet.

"Come on, talk to me," Taylor demanded. "What's new in your life?"

"Well, I came to Terra Nova yesterday, that's still pretty new."

"I know about that. Can't you tell me something else?" Lucas shrugged. "What's new with your work?"

"I was relocated from Chicago to Terra Nova."

Taylor frowned, giving his son a look. "Lucas…"

"Dad…" Lucas replied in the same low tone.

"Will you tell me something I don't know yet?" Lucas shrugged again. "My, are you in a chatty mood, aren't you?"

Shrug.

"Oh, come on! Don't you have anything to tell me?"

Lucas shook his head. "No."

"So much love for your old man, huh?" Lucas did not even bother to shrug that time. "It's been, what, almost five months for you since I left, right?" The boy gave a single nod. Taylor sighed. "Well, I don't know if you heard, but when I walked through the portal, there was some sort of malfunction, and I ended up here completely alone for 118 days. So, to me, it's been almost nine months now," he told his son. He looked at his plate and cut off a piece of the omelet.

"Yeah, I heard," was all Lucas said. Another throb of pain. And another. Lucas raised his hand to his temple. With mouth now full of food, Taylor looked up at him. Lucas quickly brushed his hair behind his ear, then lowered his hand as if that had been the reason he had raised it. He gazed down at the glass, tracing its side with his finger. He squirmed a little when he felt his father's eyes still on him.

"You know," Taylor spoke up after swallowing, "when I was here alone, I kept—"

"I didn't ask."

Taylor gave his son a look. "Okay, I can see that you don't want to speak to me for some reason, but can't you at least listen?"

"I'm not in the mood." He was in the mood to lie down again. The sound of his father's voice was making the throbbing worse.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Lucas lied, "I just don't feel like chatting."

"Why not?" Taylor asked.

Lucas shrugged. "Why do you want to chat, anyway?" he queried. He leaned forward and supported his head with his hand, seemingly bored. The throbbing was getting better again. "We never used to chat. Why start now?"

"Because we haven't seen each other in a long time," Taylor said. "We didn't even get to talk over phone."

"So?"

"Well, I missed you."

Lucas snorted.

Taylor frowned.

"What?" Lucas said. "It's only been, like, five months. That wasn't so long. I'll miss you when we haven't seen each other for five years."

The commander shook his head. He looked down at his plate. While he was cutting the omelet, Lucas lowered his hand and stole another grape. "Hey!" Taylor glared at him. The son chewed slowly, grimacing once again. "You know you shouldn't eat that."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm hungry," Lucas said, the fruit still in his mouth.

"That's what you have this for," Taylor said, picking up Lucas's glass and putting it back down.

Lucas swallowed, then took another one of his father's grapes. "Good lord, this is bad," he complained after biting down on it. He reached out and grabbed two more. Taylor just stared at him. Lucas stuffed them into his mouth, even though he had not yet swallowed the one he had taken before.

Taylor shook his head in disbelief. "Then why are you eating it?"

"Don't want the milk," Lucas mumbled, his mouth full of grapes.

"Why not?"

Lucas raised his hand, then pointed at his mouth, wordlessly asking his father to wait. After a few seconds, he finally swallowed—only to take another grape. He grimaced through the whole process, but that did not stop him from repeating it.

Taylor could not help but laugh at the faces his son was pulling. "Come on," he said, "why do you keep eating my grapes?"

"'Cause I like them."

"You like them? Really?" Taylor asked incredulously. Lucas nodded, even though the scowl on his face as he ate said something else. "Like, a minute ago, you said they taste bad."

Lucas nodded. "They do," he told his father once he swallowed, "but that doesn't mean I can't like them."

"Yes, it does," Taylor said. "That is precisely what it means."

"No, it doesn't. 'Bad' means 'not good.' It doesn't mean 'unlikable.'"

"I think it's kind of given that when something is bad, people don't like it."

Lucas gazed down. "Well," he muttered under his breath (quietly enough for Taylor not to understand), "people seem to like _you_." That was a sure proof of the fact people could, in fact, like bad things. Or bad people. Unless it was because people just didn't know the commander was bad—

"What did you say?" Taylor's voice interrupted Lucas's thoughts.

"Oh, nothing. Just that you have a different dictionary than I do," the boy lied. He grabbed another grape, leaving only two on Taylor's plate.

The father sighed. "You know, drinking that would help you get used to the local food," he said, glancing at the milk.

"That milk tastes as bad as this, I don't see the point."

"It's the enzymes or something that make it taste so bad to you. This 'milk' is designed—"

"I don't want the milk, okay?!" Lucas all but snapped, raising his voice and interrupting his father. The commander frowned. Lucas squirmed a little under the stern look he received, glancing down at the table to avoid the gaze. He was not in the mood for a lecture or an argument.

"What's your problem with it?" Taylor inquired, studying Lucas with his eyes.

Lucas sighed. "I just don't like it," he claimed. It was not the whole truth, but it was not a whole lie, either. He really did not like its taste.

"I don't care if you like it or not," Taylor replied. "You're going to drink your milk, and you're not going to complain about it, understood?"

Lucas frowned. He reached out for Taylor's plate again, but the older man quickly grabbed it. He held it up and away from his son's reach. Lucas pouted like a sulking child, prompting Taylor to smirk. "Fine," Lucas said. "Keep your food, you stingy… _stinger_. I'm not that hungry, anyway."

"Hey, three days from now, you can steal as much of my food as you want, but for now, you've got your milk."

Lucas crossed his arms. "I don't want the milk."

"Well, that's too bad 'cause you're going to have to drink it, anyway." The commander put the plate down and proceeded to eat the last two of his grapes. Lucas was not entirely sure about it, but he thought he saw his father smirk for a moment, as if he was mocking him.

Taylor resumed eating the omelet. The young man stared at him in silence for a few seconds. He pushed the glass farther away from himself, then crossed his arms again.

Taylor gave his son a look. Without a word, he pushed the glass closer to Lucas.

Lucas pushed it back.

"Come on, don't be a baby."

"I'm not a baby, I just don't like it."

"Come on!" Taylor said. "Does it really taste that bad?"

"I don't know…" Lucas shrugged. "I'm not hungry."

"Lucas…"

"Dad."

Taylor let out a breath. "Well, you're going to have to drink this eventually."

"No, I'm not."

"And what are you going to do?" he asked. "Go on a hunger strike?"

Lucas shrugged. "Maybe." Taylor gave his son a look. The youth just smirked and briefly raised his eyebrows as though he was challenging him.

Taylor shook his head. He was starting to get tired of his son's defiance. "Lucas, just drink it."

"No."

"Drink it," the commander repeated, his tone turning stern.

"I don't want to."

"I don't care. Drink it."

Lucas was quiet for a couple of seconds. Afterwards, he leaned forward. "Dad," he spoke up, "do you know how old I am now?"

"Eighteen," Taylor replied. "Almost nineteen."

"Do you know what that means?"

Taylor sighed, already knowing he would not agree with whatever answer Lucas would give him. "Enlighten me."

"It means I'm an adult," Lucas explained, "which means that I don't have to listen to you anymore. I can do whatever I want."

Taylor nodded, even though he was about to disagree. "Well," he replied, "as long as you're living under my roof, you are going to listen to what I say, son."

"Fine, I'll move out," Lucas responded matter-of-factly, as though it would not have been a big deal.

"Oh, and where are you going to go, genius?" Taylor asked.

"I don't know." Lucas shrugged. "Anywhere."

"Of course…"

"You think I can't live on my own? I've been living that way for the last two years."

"No," Taylor told him, chuckling, "that's not what I'm saying. But, you see, there are really not enough houses in Terra Nova, so unless you're planning on living in the jungle…" He chuckled again.

Lucas frowned, seemingly insulted. "What, you don't think I could live there?"

"No," Taylor replied, "I really don't."

"Didn't you live there alone for, like, four months?"

"Yes, but—"

"Well, then why couldn't _I_ live there?"

Taylor just gave Lucas a look.

"What? Why couldn't I?"

"Because there are dinosaurs out there?" Taylor said, raising his tone at the end to show the answer was obvious.

Instead of understanding the danger, Lucas seemed to shrug it off. "So? You survived those."

"Yeah, but let me tell you," Taylor said, picking up a piece of omelet with his fork, "it wasn't easy. Not something anyone could handle."

"Oh, I see," Lucas said and nodded. While Taylor ate, Lucas bit his lower lip. "So, in your eyes, I am just 'anyone.'" The young man snorted. "Geez, Dad, stop overestimating me…" he said sarcastically.

Taylor shook his head. Once he swallowed, he said, "You're not 'just anyone,' but—"

"Then why couldn't I handle it?" Lucas cut in.

"Because you're not a soldier, son," Taylor answered. Lucas glanced aside. "You're a peanut."

Lucas furrowed his brows upon hearing that. "Peanut? Again?"

"Always," Taylor said, sending his son a strangely fond smile.

Lucas stared down at the glass of milk in order to stop himself from returning the smile. "Well," he said after a couple of seconds, "I am not a peanut. I am an _adult_ , which is why I don't need to do or _drink_ anything I don't want to."

"No, see, that is precisely why you're not an adult," the father claimed. "If you were, you would understand that drinking that milk is going to help you, and you'd drink it. But instead you're acting like a sick child who doesn't want to take his medicine just 'cause it's 'icky.'"

Lucas shook his head. "No, if I were a child, I would listen to what you say—"

Taylor gave a laugh. "When did you ever?"

Lucas frowned, pressing his tongue against his cheek. "…but because I'm an adult," he continued, "I can make my own decisions. And while I do understand this milk is designed to help, I also know it's not necessary, which is why I'm not going to bother drinking it."

"Oh, you're going to drink that milk."

Lucas leaned back and stared at his father. "You can't make me."

"Can't I?"

"What are you going to do? Ground me if I refuse?" he asked. "You can't do that anymore 'cause I'm not a child."

Taylor gave a shrug. "Well, maybe I could just pour it down your throat myself," he suggested matter-of-factly.

"Oh, _please_! You wouldn't do that."

"Oh, I will if you don't drink it on your own," the commander claimed.

"I won't," Lucas insisted. "And neither will you."

Taylor gave his son a stern look. The boy's own stare did not falter at all. Instead, he crossed his arms, then briefly raised his eyebrows. The commander straightened out his posture. Lucas smirked. "Last warning, Lucas," Taylor said. "Drink the milk."

Without a word, Lucas uncrossed his arms and pushed the glass farther away.

"Fine." Taylor stood up. He picked the glass up and stepped over to his son.

Lucas seemed surprised by that. He chuckled nervously, looking at his father with disbelief in his eyes. "Are you serious?"

No. He was not. But he figured the threat of being serious might make Lucas cave. "I told you," Taylor said, suppressing a laugh to keep his voice steady, "either you'll drink it on your own, or I'll pour it down your throat. Now open your mouth."

Lucas watched him for a moment, then shook his head. "You're bluffing."

"I'm not bluffing," Taylor lied. "Open your mouth. Wide, I don't want to spill it on the ground."

Lucas tried to grab the glass, but his father held it away from his reach. "Give it!" he all but whined.

"Are you going to drink it on your own?" Taylor asked.

"No, I'm not."

"Open your mouth, Lucas."

Keeping his mouth shut, the boy stared at his father. The expression on the soldier's face seemed serious.

"Do I have to open it by force?" Taylor asked.

Lucas really was not sure anymore if his father would do so or not. In the end, he decided not to risk it. "All right, fine!" he said. "I'll drink it. Geez…"

Taylor smiled. "Here you go," he said, handing Lucas the glass. Reluctantly and with a frown on his face, Lucas held the glass up to his lips—but did not drink. He looked up at his father, who was still hovering above him. Somehow, the man seemed even taller than Lucas remembered him being. Sighing in defeat, Lucas finally took a sip. He grimaced when the liquid touched his tongue, but his father grinned and went to sit back down. "See?" the old man said. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's terrible. Stupid milk…" Lucas grumbled. He drank a mouthful, then put the glass down and scowled. The taste was making him feel sick. "Ugh! I've only been here a day, and you're already making me hate this place."

"Oh, come on. You don't mean that."

He meant it. He definitely meant it. But he opted not to say that. Instead he drank another mouthful and prayed for the strength to keep it down.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

Taylor finished his meal, and Lucas begrudgingly drank the remainder of his milk. Taylor insisted he show his son around the small colony as he had suggested earlier. He waited for Lucas to unpack and brush his teeth (Lucas was disappointed to discover that even water tasted funny to him). The boy also needed to take a shower since he had fallen asleep before doing so the previous night. Only about ten minutes in (fifteen minutes at most for sure), Taylor was knocking on the bathroom door, calling Lucas and telling him to hurry. Lucas gritted his teeth, leaning his forehead against the wall in an effort to calm himself down. He had not missed his father's 'hurry up in there' when they had been living separately. He had not missed it at all.

Finally, having left the shower and put on clean clothes, Lucas was ready to go.

They stepped out of the house. Lucas had to squint at the bright sunshine coming from above. And the air… The air outside was even fresher, cleaner than inside.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Taylor said, looking around. "So much green everywhere…"

At least he assumed the air was fresher out there; all he knew for certain was that it stung enough to make him cough, albeit mildly. Lucas cleared his throat to hide the cough from his father. "Yeah, a whole buttload of it," he muttered in response to what his father had said. He knew his father would not like the word (then again, that might have been a good thing—it would divert Taylor's attention from that little cough of his), but he was grumpy. Not only because he was sick, but also because he was not looking forward to spending more time with his 'I'm high and everything is great' (which had scared him a little as he had not expected it), 'I'll pour things down your throat if you don't hurry up' (which had made him angry even though he had expected it) father.

Taylor frowned. "A buttload?"

"What?" Lucas shrugged. "I could have used a worse word than that, you know?"

Then he heard a screech. He looked up, only to find two giant bird-like creatures soaring above the jungle, not too far the fence. "Holy…"

"Watch your tongue, young man," Taylor reminded.

"I wasn't going to finish that," Lucas defended himself. He looked back at the birds (which were not actually birds—not that Lucas was aware of that). He knew it. He knew there would be birds in Terra Nova. And birds could fly over the fence… "Those are big."

Taylor smiled. "Majestic, huh?"

"Could they attack us?" Lucas asked, shifting weight on his feet.

"No, don't worry. We're a little too big prey for them. They eat fish from the nearby lakes."

"I wasn't worried," the youth lied—and Taylor knew it. The father gave a chuckle, then asked Lucas to follow him as he set off.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

They walked for about five minutes before they came up to the square behind the main gate. A couple of stalls were nearby; Taylor explained there was a market, but since it was Sunday morning, the vendors were not there yet. The commander showed Lucas the place where he would work (a nice, clean place with just enough space for all his equipment, he supposed) as well as the infirmary ("In case you ever need it—let's hope not," Taylor said), which happened to be in the same building.

"Come on, I'll show you my office now," Taylor said. Lucas sighed. "You know, I think you might be surprised by how nice it is."

It turned out to be up in that funny-looking wooden hut. While they were still on the stairs, Lucas heard muffled voices coming from above. Taylor entered, exchanging a greeting with the people inside. Lucas stayed in the doorway, taking note of the people in there: Lieutenant Washington as well as two military men he did not recognize.

"Hey there," Wash said to him.

"Hi," Lucas replied, while his eyes scanned the room. It did not take long before he noticed the centerpiece of the office.

"This is my son, Lucas," Taylor said to the two men Lucas did not know. The two said hello to the boy, but Lucas was too busy to listen—busy staring open-mouthed at a giant dinosaur skull with a glass panel on top of it. Taylor noticed what his son was looking at and smiled. "Pretty nice, huh?"

"What is that?" Lucas asked when he found his voice.

"That's my desk," Taylor explained. "I found the skull nearby. I figured it would look neat in here. What do you think?"

"That…" Lucas finally entered the room, taking a couple of steps towards the table. "Okay, I hate to say this, but… this is the _coolest_ desk I have _ever_ seen."

Taylor chuckled. "Why do you hate to say that?"

"Because it's yours and not mine."

"I see." The man gave a laugh.

Lucas slowly walked over to the chair that stood behind the table. He traced the glass panel's frame with his finger, gently, carefully, as though he was afraid it might break. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Washington started talking to his father; he did not listen to the conversation, focusing his attention on the piece of furniture. He knew his father was like a king of the colony, but he had not expected his father to own something so extraordinary. He had not seen much of the colony, but he was sure there was no other table like that anywhere. It really amazed him. The only thing it was missing was an actual throne behind it instead of a regular chair, which paled in comparison with the desk.

The young man looked up at the four soldiers. They seemed to be engaged in a conversation about… something important he did not care about in the slightest, surely. Taking advantage of the fact their attention was not directed toward him, he silently pushed the chair back and took a seat. He smiled. Somehow, just sitting behind the desk felt empowering. He touched the glass with his hands, then folded his arms on it.

The chair, while not as cool-looking as the desk, was actually really comfortable. After a moment, Lucas leaned back. He glanced up at his father, but the man was still talking to his soldiers. The kid grinned. Pushing the chair back just a little bit, he lifted his feet off the ground and put them up on the desk. Oh, it was glorious! Comfy chair, awesome table, feet up… He felt as though he could spend the rest of his life in that very spot. He did not understand why his father ever bothered leaving the place. With a content smile on his lips, Lucas closed his eyes. He could easily fall asleep in that chair, he was sure of it. It wouldn't—

"Hey!" his father's raised voice interrupted the moment of rest and glory he was having. The young man's eyes snapped open. "I'm glad you like my desk, but get your feet off it. Now!"

Lucas looked at him with eyes resembling a puppy dog. "But this is so comfy!"

"I don't care. Put them down."

Frowning, Lucas did as he was told. "Killjoy," he muttered under his breath.

"Listen," Taylor said, "there's something I need to go take care of now. I won't be gone long, I promise."

Lucas gave a slow nod, knowing that Taylor saying so meant that he would, in fact, be gone long.

"You remember the way back to the house, right? Or maybe you can go look around the colony on your own if you want."

At that moment, Lucas got an idea. Fighting back a smile, he said, "Or maybe I could just wait for you here." Taylor narrowed his eyes. "Well, I wouldn't want to get lost, you know, going somewhere…" His father eyed him, but Lucas feigned innocence. "What?"

"Fine," the commander told him, "you can stay. I'll be back soon."

 _'You won't,'_ Lucas thought, but he did not mind. If anything, he was glad. The four soldiers turned away from him and went toward the door. Lucas watched them leave—and as soon as they did, he grinned and put his feet back up on the desk.

Three seconds later, Taylor came back.

Lucas put his feet down, but it was too late. His father had seen him. "I—"

"I knew it!" Taylor said, going over to his son. "I knew that was why you wanted to stay. Come on, I'm taking you back to the house."

"No, come on!"

"Well, I'm not leaving you with my desk. You're dishonoring it."

"I promise I won't put my feet up again."

Taylor frowned, narrowing his eyes.

"Please!" Lucas gave his father the most adorable puppy eyes he managed to make.

"You promise?"

"I promise! My feet will stay on the ground the whole time," he claimed. "I just like this place and want to stay here. And I really don't want to risk getting lost."

"Fine," Taylor said. "But keep your feet down. This is a nice desk, and it deserves respect."

Lucas nodded. "I _completely_ agree. I don't know what I was thinking when I put them up before."

"Mm-hm. You're going to put them up as soon as I leave, aren't you?"

"No, I'll wait for a few seconds in case you come back again," Lucas admitted. Taylor scowled. "Hey, you want to take me back to the house? Fine. I know the way here, I can come back on my own."

Taylor smacked Lucas's head; it was only symbolic and did not hurt, but Lucas still let out a small "ow."

"Keep your feet down, smarty-pants." After those words, Taylor left. Contrary to Lucas's expectation, he did not come back a few seconds later to check if the boy listened. He probably realized there was no use.

When a whole minute passed, Lucas leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head and put his feet up on the amazing dino-desk. It felt really comfortable…

* * *

Author's note

Hello again and thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this chapter; sorry it took me so long to update. I was planning on posting it earlier, but, sadly, life is getting more and more tiring. To make it up to you, I will post the next chapter tomorrow.

Also, holy crap, at one point when I was writing, I cut one paragraph because I wanted to paste it to another place in the document. However, when I pressed CTRL and V, Word suddenly stopped working. After a while it started running again, but the paragraph was pasted there, like, 300 times. What happened, Word? (Fortunately, I only had to press CTRL and Z once to delete all 300 pasted paragraphs.)


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you sure your father would a—" Washington's sentence was interrupted when Lucas opened his eyes and discovered he was no longer alone. Abruptly (and in panic), he pushed back so he could put his feet on the ground. "—approve…"

Lucas took in a few deep breaths to calm down. He had not heard her footsteps when she had come back in. It had been her voice that had alerted him to someone else's presence. "Oh, hey," he said. "I thought you were my father for a second." He chuckled. "Gave me a scare."

"Were you sleeping in that chair?"

Was he?

"'Cause I've been standing here for a minute, and you didn't notice."

"Oh." He frowned. "I might have been _half_ -asleep." Maybe even more than just half. He was really not sure. Lucas rubbed his temples. His head was not well, and neither was his stomach. He thought resting was supposed to make a person feel better. Instead, even though he had spent he‑didn't‑even‑know‑how‑long asleep in that cozy chair, he worried that he might puke. Sighing, he put his feet back up. Wash cleared her throat, and he gave her a look. "You're not going to tell him about this, are you?"

"About your feet on his desk?"

"Yeah."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, come on," Lucas urged, "don't be a tattle."

The woman crossed her arms. "Put your feet down now," she said, "and I won't tell him."

"Good god, you're a killjoy just like he is," he complained. Nonetheless, he moved his feet to the floor. "Who is it hurting if I put my feet up? Have you ever tried it? Do you have any idea how comfy it is?"

"It might be comfy, but in case you haven't heard, it's considered impolite."

Lucas rolled his eyes.

Washington turned away from him and went over to something that looked like a walk-in closet. She pushed open the sliding doors, revealing weapons and gear inside. "So how are you liking Terra Nova so far?" she asked while picking up a rifle.

"Yeah, it's, it's great," he said, if only to avoid a conversation where he would explain why he hated everything he had encountered so far and she (surely sharing his father's opinion) would try to convince him that the place was, in fact, beautiful. He let out a breath, closing his eyes. "Everything's just great…" he mumbled.

The woman walked towards the door but stopped in her tracks when she took in the man seated in Commander's chair."Hey, are you okay?" she asked.

"Huh?" He opened his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Because you're clutching at your stomach."

He looked down. He had not even realized he was doing so. He quickly removed his hands, sticking them into the pockets of his pants instead. "I wasn't clutching, just… resting my arms there," he claimed. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Well, you look a little… I don't know, pale," she said. "Sickly."

Lucas frowned. "I'm not sickly."

Instead of accepting the answer, Washington regarded him for a few seconds. He could not help squirming under her studying eyes. "Do you have a headache or something?"

Yes. "No. Why?"

"Because you were rubbing your temples before."

"I was not rubbing my temples!" he argued. "I was smoothing out my hair."

"Right," she replied, even though she knew that was a lie. "I was just asking 'cause I've already sent two of the newcomers to the infirmary today. Now I'm wondering if you should join them."

Lucas blinked. "Why'd you send them there?"

"Because they weren't feeling well," she responded. "You know, it's common for people to feel sick after coming through the portal."

The young man gave a nervous chuckle. "Okay, first of all," he said, "I'm not feeling sick. And second, just out of curiosity, how common would you say it is?"

Washington smirked. "I don't know the number, but I know it happens sometimes. Headache, nausea… It's because of the oxygen in the air."

"I thought the oxygen was a good thing."

"It's good once you get used to it. It can feel off at first," she explained. "When you spend your life in dirt, coming to a place that's clean can be a shock for the body."

"Hmm…" Lucas sighed, placing one hand back on his abdomen. "Out of curiosity," he asked, "did _you_ feel sick after coming here?"

"Just a little. It wasn't that bad," she said.

"How would you define 'little'?"

"I'd say I felt better than you, from the looks of it."

"I don't feel sick," he insisted, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I guess that's why you're so pale—because you're _not_ sick."

"Oh, you just think I'm pale because you're darker than me. I'll have you know that my skin always looks like this; it's not because I'm sick."

"I know what you always look like, and right now, you're looking paler than usual," Wash told him. "Maybe you should go to the infir—"

"Do _not_ say 'infirmary!'" he cut in, raising his voice. She raised her eyebrows at him, prompting him to glance away.

Washington shrugged. "As you wish. But you know what I think you should do." The lieutenant took a step back. "I have to get going."

She turned away to head out, but his voice stopped her. "Do you know when my father's coming back?"

"He should be back soon," she responded. "I can send him here if you want."

"No, that's okay. Just, umm…" He hesitated, unsure if asking for the favor he wanted to ask for would count as an admission of guilt. In the end, he decided it was worth the risk. "If you see him, could you _not_ tell him about this?"

"About what?"

Lucas glanced away, sucking in his lips. "Me being sick," he said, looking back at her.

"I thought you said you weren't sick…" She knew he had lied to her, but she did not take kindly to that kind of behavior.

Lucas gave her a glare. He knew that she knew, but if she thought she would get an actual confession—or, god forbid, an apology—out of him, she was wrong. "I'm not," he lied again. Washington snorted. "I simply don't want him to worry when there is nothing to worry about." The woman shook her head at him. His gaze softened after a moment, and he added, "Just don't tell him, okay?"

Wash sighed. "I've got to go," was all she said before leaving. She did not confirm that she would not tell his father, but she also did not say that she would. Lucas hoped she would choose the former.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

It did not take long before his father arrived. Only about fifteen minutes, Lucas guessed. Fortunately for him, he had not fallen asleep again. He heard someone coming up the stairs, leaving him with enough time to put his feet off the table before Taylor entered.

And yet, the first thing the commander said upon walking in was: "You had your feet up, didn't you?"

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Are you making a guess, or did Wash tell you?"

Taylor chuckled. "Just a guess." He took a seat on the other side of the desk. "I spoke to her, but she didn't mention that to me. It just seemed like the kind of thing you'd do."

"Hmm…" He would deny having his feet up, but he figured his question about the lieutenant telling on him _did_ count as an admission of guilt. "Well, that's disappointing," he said, leaning back in the chair. "I even bothered to put them down when I heard you coming so you couldn't tell."

The father gave a shrug. "Hey, I'd like to think I know you by now."

Lucas snickered.

"Hey, I've known you your whole life."

"Yeah, _okay_ ," Lucas uttered. He looked down, briefly raised his eyebrows and pushed out his lips—an expression which showed he did not think his father knew him well.

Taylor frowned but did not respond otherwise. Instead, he took note of the hand Lucas had on his abdomen and the tiredness in his eyes (which Taylor found strange, given how long Lucas had slept). "You're not feeling well, are you?"

Lucas sucked in his lips, biting them. Even though his father had not said it, he realized Washington must have informed him of that. After all, Taylor had mentioned he had spoken to her, plus he found it hard to believe Taylor would be so observant on his own (even though he had seemed strangely observant the previous day). "Stupid tattle," he muttered. "What did she tell you?"

"Watch your tongue, boy," the father said, sending him a stern look. "And FYI, I'd know you're sick even if she hadn't told me anything. You don't look good."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Well, _thank you_ for the compliment. You know, you're pretty ugly yourself."

"I didn't mean it like that," Taylor explained, even though he knew Lucas was aware of that. "You look very pale, you know? And tired. You don't seem healthy."

"I'm fine," the young man claimed. "I'm just having a little headache, that's all. That happens sometimes."

"Are you nauseous, too?"

Lucas shrugged. "That also happens sometimes."

"Mm-hm. And just how long have you felt this way?"

"I don't know." Taylor raised his eyebrows, and Lucas fidgeted a little. "Since I came here."

Taylor blinked. "You mean since you came here to my office, or here to Terra Nova? Through the portal?"

Lucas sighed. "The portal."

"What? Then why didn't you say anything earlier?" Taylor asked, raising his voice a little.

Lucas frowned. His father seemed angered by that, but he also seemed… The boy wasn't sure. Hurt, maybe? Why would he be hurt by that? In the end, Lucas shrugged once more. "It's not that bad," he said.

Taylor let out a breath. "You have to tell me about these things, son. You might be hyperoxic, you know? And that's no fun." Lucas groaned, but the father ignored it. "You should go to the infirmary, get yourself checked. If you need it, they'll attach a leech to your back for a while, and then you'll be a-okay."

Lucas blinked, taken aback by what his father had just said. "A _leech_?"

"Yeah, they suck out the excess oxygen from the body or something."

That sounded odd. And a little creepy. He found it strange to think the most efficient method to get it done would be to use an animal rather than something more… technologically advanced. Then again, he was not a doctor—not the medical one, anyway. Lucas frowned and shook his head. "Well, I don't need any leeches," he said. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine to me," the father insisted.

"Since when are you able to tell?" Lucas responded, prompting Taylor to frown as well. "Look, I'm sure it's just a random migraine. I am _not_ hyperoxic, okay?"

"Everyone gets hyperoxic after walking through the portal. That's normal," the commander replied. "But if you get _so_ hyperoxic that you're feeling ill even a day later, then you need to get treated."

"I don't need to get treated."

"It seems to me you do," Taylor said. Lucas shook his head. The old man leaned forward. "Look, just let me take you to the infirmary, all right?"

"No."

The father sighed. His son's stubbornness was starting to irritate him. Suddenly, a thought hit him. He narrowed his eyes at his son and asked, "Are you afraid of the leech?"

"What? No, I'm not afraid," Lucas said. It was not a lie. He was mildly disgusted by the thought, but he was not afraid. "I just don't want to go."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need it," he claimed. "I'm not going to waste the colony's limited… _supplies_ over just a little headache."

Taylor nodded as if in understanding. "You're afraid of the leech, aren't you?"

"I already told you I'm not."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it doesn't hurt as bad as it sounds."

"Dad, I'm not scared!" Lucas insisted, raising his voice ever so slightly. "I just don't feel sick enough to need a doctor, that's it."

"Hey, it's better to see a doctor when you don't need it than not see one when you do."

Lucas took in a breath in an attempt to settle down. He felt frustrated enough to blow. He glanced down, then slowly exhaled. "Dad," he said as calmly as he could, "do you know how old I am?"

Taylor gave another nod, thinking he knew where the conversation was headed. "Eighteen."

"Precisely," Lucas said. "I am an adult. Do you understand what that means?"

"That you do not have to listen to me and can do whatever you want?"

"That, too, but that's not what I meant," Lucas replied. "What I meant is that you are no longer legally responsible for me. If, by chance, I get so unlucky that my nausea ends up killing me, you don't have to worry 'cause it won't be your fault. You won't be held responsible for, you know, neglecting your child or whatever. It'll be on my head, not yours."

"Oh, right. Because _that's_ what I would be concerned with if you died—whether or not I was responsible." The son nodded as though he did not hear the irony behind his father's words. Taylor shook his head. "Lucas, I'm not saying you'll die. I just don't understand why you would choose to feel sick if you can easily get a treatment."

"I'm not surprised," Lucas said, "you've _never_ been able to understand me."

Taylor blinked. "Then explain it to me."

"Why bother?" Lucas folded his arms. "You wouldn't get it, anyway."

"Seriously, is it about the leech?"

"No! It's not about the stupid leech! Damn it…" he muttered. He unfolded his arms, only to fold them again on the table. He leaned forward and buried his face in the little arm-nest he had created. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, a part of him wanted to go to the infirmary. He was _really_ not feeling well. That part of him, however, was not as strong as the part which found the idea degrading.

Taylor watched his kid for a moment, unimpressed by the boy's frustration. He knew Lucas had never been fond of doctors, but he thought that was because he had been small and scared. Now that his son was grown up, he had not expected to be met with such resistance. He was not sure if the reason behind it was fear or something else. Perhaps it would have been easier if Lucas had been a child. At least he would have known the problem, and he would have known how to deal with it, too—with a promise of a sweet reward, usually a lollipop. He wished his son were young enough for such an easy incentive to work. "Come on, talk to me," Taylor urged. "Why don't you want to go get yourself checked?"

Lucas groaned. Instead of responding, he leaned against the chair's backrest. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. Without thinking, he lifted his feet—and put them on the desk. His father cleared his throat. Realizing what he was doing (or, more accurately, who was watching while he was doing it), Lucas quickly removed his feet and let them drop on the floor. "Sorry," he uttered and sent his father an apologetic look.

Surprisingly, instead of being angry, a little smile appeared on Taylor's face. "Hey," the old man spoke up, "how about we make a deal?"

Lucas furrowed his brows. "What deal?"

"If you let me take you to the infirmary," Taylor suggested, "then, as a reward, I will let you sit here with your feet up."

"Huh," Lucas said, leaning forward and getting a little smile of his own. "Interesting. And I could sit like that anytime I'd want?"

"No, only once."

"Oh. For how long?"

"As long as you would need to have the leech on," Taylor told him.

"And how long would I have the leech?"

"Uh, well, I don't know exactly, but not long. I'm sure it won't take more than an hour."

"Hmm…" Lucas considered his options. While he did not want to go to the infirmary (at least the stronger part of him didn't), he did like the idea of sitting in his father's throne with his feet up on that majestic desk. He liked the idea even more when he figured that his father would not only be annoyed by it but would also have no choice but to let it happen. It was an opportunity to get on his father's nerves and get away with it. "No," he replied. He was willing to make a deal, but he would not just say yes to the very first offer. He wanted to milk the cow more.

"Oh, come on!"

"How about _twice_ as long?" Lucas suggested. He figured asking for a longer time than that would lead nowhere. " _And_ you will have to stay here and watch me the whole time."

"What? I'm not going to watch you," Taylor replied.

Lucas shrugged. "Then I'm not going to the infirmary."

The commander sighed. "You know," he said, "I could just pick you up and carry you there against your will."

"What? No! You can't do that!"

"Hey, you may be grown up now, but I'm pretty sure I'm still strong enough to carry you. You should be grateful I bothered to offer you something in return."

Lucas scowled, then put his hands up. "Okay, twice as long and you don't have to watch."

"Deal."

"All right." As soon as he said that, Lucas moved to rest his feet on the desk.

Taylor stood up. "Uh-uh! First the infirmary, then you can sit here." The young man rolled his eyes. "Come on!" Taylor stepped over to Lucas and shoved the boy's feet off his desk. Lucas groaned. Nevertheless, he stood up—and swayed a little bit. His father eyed him. "Are you okay?" The son did not reply. He was staring at nothing, a grimace appearing on his face. "Lucas?"

"Before we go," the young man spoke, looking up at his father, "do you have a bathroom here?"

Taylor gave a nod. "Yeah, this way." The commander turned around and walked to the back of the compound. Lucas followed closely. The two took a left turn, and they came up to a couple of wooden doors. "Behind that door," Taylor said, pointing at the one on the left.

Lucas practically ran in, kicking the door shut behind him. Taylor stayed outside. Mere seconds later, he heard something that sounded like coughing. Violent coughing. Actually, it sounded too violent to be coughing. Realizing Lucas had not gone there to relieve his bladder, Taylor walked in. He found his son kneeling on the floor, hunched over a toilet. The young man was breathing heavily, his body trembling, his eyes closed.

"Oh, dear," Taylor said. He had not known Lucas had been _that_ ill. He stepped closer to him while the youth spat in the toilet bowl. After taking a few laborious, deep breaths, his son looked up at him. There was sweat on the boy's face. His eyes were filled with tears of strain. Taylor frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Lucas exhaled, then gave a nod. "I am now," he replied. Taylor held out a hand, and Lucas took it as he worked on getting up on his feet. Once he was standing, he flushed the toilet, then walked over to a sink. He turned the faucet on. When he had a handful of water, he washed out his mouth. He had been hoping to get rid of that burning, acidic sensation in his throat, but the taste of the water made him wince. Grimacing, he spat all of it out. "Damn! I swear, even _water_ tastes awful here."

"It's not awful, it's cleaner," Taylor argued.

"In that case," Lucas said, "I think I like dirty water better." His father gave him a look, but he ignored it. He washed out mouth one more time, then turned the faucet off.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

The two walked into the infirmary. Commander Taylor approached a female doctor who was standing by a near table. Feeling reluctant about being there, Lucas kept some distance between himself and the woman.

After exchanging a brief greeting, Taylor looked back at his son. He motioned at the boy to step forward while explaining the situation to the doctor. "I, uh, think my son here might be hyperoxic," Taylor informed her. "He came yesterday with the second pilgrimage, and he's been feeling sick ever since. Not that he told me…"

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Honestly, it's not that bad," he said to the doctor. "A little headache, _slight_ nausea. Probably just a migraine. My father insisted I come, but, really, I don't think it was necessary. I'm just wasting your time here."

Once Lucas finished speaking, Taylor added, "He threw up three minutes ago."

"Yes, but just a little," Lucas said, then gave his father a quick glare. _'Everyone's a tattle,'_ he thought grumpily.

"I see," the doctor said. "Well, don't worry, you're not wasting my time. I can check your oxygen, it only takes a few seconds," she told him. "Give me your hand." Lucas shifted his weight, glancing at his father. Reluctantly, he held out his right hand. The doctor grabbed an odd-looking device from the table (then again, all medical devices seemed odd-looking to him) and placed it to his index finger. After a couple of seconds, she looked at the screen on top of the thing. "Yeah," she declared, "you're definitely hyperoxic."

"See?" Taylor said to his son. Lucas frowned at him.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

Not long after that, Lucas found himself sitting on one of the beds in the infirmary, waiting for the doctor to bring him a leech. He had been asked to take off his shirt and pants, to change into a long hospital gown that was open in the back. He was glad there were no mirrors nearby because he must have looked ridiculous. He felt awkward, although if he were being honest with himself, he did not think that was only (or mainly) because of the gown.

While he was waiting for the doctor, a female nurse came by to wash his back because, apparently, leeches did not like odors… or were attracted to odors… or something. He didn't know. He wasn't really listening, but he caught the word 'odors.'

Soon enough, he saw the doctor coming back with a giant (bigger than he had expected), dark oval in her hands. "Well," Lucas said, "that is one ugly bug."

"That's not a bug. That's a leech," Commander Taylor, standing near the bed, corrected him.

"Who says I was talking about the leech?"

"And what were you talking about?"

"You, maybe?" Lucas smirked at his father, raising his eyebrows as though he was challenging him.

"I'm an ugly bug?"

"Well, you're not pretty, and you do bug me a lot," Lucas said.

"Okay, pipe down."

The doctor approached the young man. "Are you ready?" she asked with an annoying smile on her face.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

Taylor chuckled. "Do you want me to hold your hand?" His son glared at him. While the expression on the man's face seemed sympathetic, Lucas knew the intention behind it was to make fun of him.

"I told you, like, a hundred times," Lucas said through gritted teeth, "I am _not_ afraid of some _stupid_ —"

"Okay, then! Let's do this," the doctor stepped in. "The leech attaches better when there's blood, so the nurse will poke your back with a little needle, okay?"

"Okay." He was not sure why she was asking him. He had the feeling they would proceed regardless of his response.

He felt a prickle on his back, between the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Only a second or two after that, the doctor stepped behind him and held the giant leech's mouth close to the spot where he had been 'poked.' Then he felt stinging. It was not too bad; in fact, he barely felt it. He might not have even noticed if he had not been paying attention to it. He carefully turned his head to take a look. He did not turn it enough to see the leech, but he could see the doctor standing there empty-handed.

"There we go," the doctor said. "Now all you've got to do is wait for the leech to do its job. Just sit tight and don't move too much."

Lucas gave a nod.

"Does it hurt?" his father asked him.

"No, it doesn't," the son replied.

"I told you you had nothing to worry about."

"I told you I wasn't worried."

"Fine, you weren't," Taylor said, even though he was not convinced. He turned to the doctor. "May I ask how long this will take?" he inquired.

"A half hour," the doctor told him. "Then about as or twice as long to care for the wound."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The doctor and nurse stepped aside, while the father stepped closer to his son. "Listen," Taylor said, "I still have some things I need to do, so how about I leave you here for now, and then, when I'm done, I'll come back here? Or, if you finish sooner than me, you can wait for me back at the house."

"Or I could wait for you in your office," Lucas suggested. "We made a deal, remember? I came here as you asked, now you owe me."

"Okay." The commander chuckled.

"Hey, does the care for the wound count in the time I get to sit on your throne?"

"My 'throne'?" Taylor questioned, furrowing his brows.

"Does it count or not?" Lucas asked again. "I know we agreed on twice as long as the leech is attached, but I didn't know at the time that I would need this… additional care. I think it should be included in the time I get."

"I don't think so," Taylor replied. "The doc said half an hour, so you're getting one hour. That's it."

"Come on!"

"Hey, let's be honest: you'd already been sitting there with your feet up for quite a while before I came."

Lucas sighed. "Fine," he said. "One hour. But not a _minute_ less."

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

The leech was growing heavier on his back, and so was the tingling. By the time his half hour was up, he could no longer say it did not hurt.

The doctor came up to him. "So… How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Yeah? How's the leech?"

"Still sucking. It's fine. A little tingly, but it doesn't hurt." Okay, he _could_ say it didn't, but not while being honest.

The doctor went over to a nearby table, then returned with the same odd-looking device she had used on him earlier. "I'm going to check your oxygen level. Your hand, please." He raised his right hand, and she placed the device to his index finger. After observing the screen on top, she smiled and said, "Looking much better now." She put the device back to where she had found it. "I'd say it's about time we pull the leech off. We wouldn't want it to suck you dry."

"All right," Lucas said, a small frown on his face. He was not sure if the doctor was exaggerating or if the leech could actually do that. The idea of the latter creeped him out.

"This will hurt a bit more than the attachment," she informed him. "Try not to move." After those words, she grabbed the leech's thick body and started pulling.

It turned out the doctor had been right. The leech's arrival had been gentle. However, his blood must have tasted really good, because the leech did _not_ want to leave. The pain was not unbearable; he had gone through worse. Still, the process of getting it off his back _did_ hurt.

Lucas squirmed—but just a little. He needed to limit his movement to a minimum. The leech's teeth were digging into his body as it struggled to hold on. The doctor adjusted her grip. The leech (if he felt right) stayed the same. Biting, digging, not willing to surrender. Lucas clenched his jaw. Against his instinct, he refrained from fidgeting again.

While the doctor's pull was not hard, she was stronger than the animal. It did not take long before the leech's bite started to give. Its teeth pulled out and scratched his flesh on the way. Lucas flared his nostrils, inhaling audibly. Fortunately, the leech lost the battle. Its suction was gone, its teeth were out, and the animal was away from his back and in the doctor's hands. "Here we go," she said. "It wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Yeah, it was okay." He was getting tired of lying. It had hurt. It had hurt more than he had expected, given how smoothly the attachment had gone. However, he did not want to admit that. Especially not since she had said: 'It wasn't so bad.' She was a doctor. She should have known whether the procedure was painful or not. _'Maybe it wasn't supposed to hurt…'_ he thought, and he could not help but frown.

The doctor put the leech away, calling a nurse over to discard it. Afterwards, she stepped to a near table, one where her equipment lay. She took off her gloves and threw them into a trash can that sat by her feet. Lucas looked away from her. He stared at the floor while waiting for whatever she would do next. Suddenly, he felt something on his back, some liquid trickling down. Was it sweat? He was not feeling hot.

The doctor came back. "Blood oozing nicely, I see."

Oh.

"I'm going to clean the wound now."

She dabbed his back with a damp cloth. He was not sure about it, but he had the feeling the cloth had been soaked in something other than water. It stung him. It did not hurt as much as having the leech pulled off, but it hurt. The area of the bite burned. He had to clench his jaw again, trying to stop himself from making any noise of pain. He did not want her to think he could not handle it; he had handled far worse things than that.

While she was working on him, Lucas spoke up, "Hey, can I ask you a question?" Upon receiving a positive reply, he queried, "How many people experience this like me? Hyperoxia?"

The doctor provided a rather broad answer, saying that 'some people' did. "You're not the only one, don't worry," she told him. (Ooh, that touch stung! Perhaps speaking was distracting her from being gentle with the wound, he theorized.)

Even though her response was meant to reassure him, it did not make things any better. If anything, it made him worry even more. Why had she answered so broadly? Had she been trying to spare his feelings? He already knew he was not alone; Washington had said she had sent two to the infirmary that day. Was he one out of merely three patients? Lucas sucked in his lips. "Okay," he spoke up, "but, out of all yesterday's newcomers, how many came here today?"

"I don't know the number," she replied. She poked his wound with the cloth, prompting him to wince. "I didn't tend to all of them."

He let out a breath. "Well, would you say it was more or less than a half?"

"Oh, less," she said. "Less for sure."

Huh. 'For sure.' _Great_. For someone who had just told him not to worry, she sure was rubbing it in nicely. "And when you say 'less…' Just how 'less' are we talking about here? Is it closer to, say, fifty or five?"

"Five."

Rubbing it in, and rubbing it in. (She was only answering his question, but he was too grumpy to realize that.) At least she did not say 'for sure.' That was an improvement. He took in a deep breath, then exhaled, glancing aside. The burning on his back was getting worse, not so much in intensity as in duration. At first, it had only stung when the cloth had actually been touching him. Now it was stinging even in between her dabs.

He tried to get her to tell him a more specific number, but all he got was a guess of 'somewhere between five and a dozen.' He estimated there had been approximately one hundred people on the second pilgrimage, so that answer did not make him very happy. What made him even less happy was her response when he asked if any of them had thrown up, too.

"A couple."

A couple. Merely a couple. _Per-fect_. That did not sound like a lot. Although, seeing as there had only been a few patients in total, maybe the 'couple' was a majority of them. Or maybe he was just hoping against hope. "And that 'couple'," he asked, grimacing for a second as she dabbed him again, "is it closer to the five or the dozen?" With his luck, she would say 'five' and add another 'for sure' right behind it.

"Definitely five."

 _'Close enough,'_ Lucas thought, wishing he had not had to think that. It was one of the very rare moments when he wanted his guess to be wrong. The term 'Pyrrhic victory' came to mind.

Even though the doctor assured him he was not alone, he was clearly in the minority. Actually, he was in the minority _of_ the minority. He was not the rule, he was the exception. He had not been supposed to be hyperoxic to such extent. Yet he had been. And the more he thought about it, the less he was bothered by the burning pain brought on by the doctor's damp cloth. He figured that, given his mood, a little pain was appropriate. He closed his eyes, his mind going to the stinging on his back. _'I might as well enjoy this.'_

As if to spite his thoughts, the doctor put the cloth away. Lucas frowned. She walked back to the table with her equipment. The stinging on his back continued, but he did not think it would last much longer—which, he supposed, was a good thing. Then again, the doctor had said caring for the wound might take more than half an hour. It had only been a couple of minutes. Maybe she would dab him with another stinging cloth. Or maybe she would do something even worse. A part of him wanted to ask, but he did not muster up to courage. He did not want her to think that he was afraid, that he could not handle a little pain. He could.

Instead, he decided to inquire about something else that was bothering him. "Hey, uh, Doctor?" he called out, getting her attention. She returned to him and allowed another question with a polite smile. "What causes this… hyperoxia?" He understood the basic reason of not being used to all the oxygen in the air. What he did not understand was why some people adjusted within a minute, while others were sick even a day later and needed to have their blood sucked out by huge, ugly worms.

The doctor gave him another broad explanation. She said it was caused by a variety of factors, such as one's medical history or the quality of air in the place where one used to live. (The stinging on his back was starting to lessen.)

Well, he was not a doctor (the medical one), but he did not think the reasons she had mentioned were responsible in his case. The places he had lived at were not the cleanest, but his father had lived there, too, and the old man had not needed a leech. He had never been seriously ill, either. He knew there was a history of lung disease in his family, but he had never had a problem with his own lungs. True, he had smoked about five cigarettes two years earlier, which his father had claimed would kill him, but he had the feeling that was not related to his current condition. Was his body more unfit than he had thought? Was he too weak to—

"Hey," the doctor's voice interrupted his internal musing, "when you came here, you said you thought you were just having a migraine. Are you prone to getting those?"

"Occasionally," he answered. "Not often. Once or twice a year."

"Well, that sure played a role in this," she told him.

That made sense, he supposed. Commander Taylor never suffered from migraines; perhaps that was why it had been easier for his father to adjust. It was not the only factor, as the doctor explained, but it was one of them. Frankly, he wanted to believe it was the main one. He liked the idea of headaches being to blame—not he himself.

* * *

Author's note

Hello again! What a quick update, huh? Just one day later—yay me! And yay you for reading, I appreciate it.

To be honest, I'm not all that happy with how the last scene of this chapter turned out, but eh. I hope you enjoyed the story anyway and that you will come back for the next chapter. Here, have a little sneak peek from it—one of Commander Taylor's lines: "Whine all you want, I'm not doing it. Now come on!"


	6. Chapter 6

Commander Taylor walked into his office. He found his son sitting behind the dino-desk with his feet up on it and, for some reason, a frown on his face. With his right arm, he was reaching over his left shoulder, seemingly scratching his back. "Hey, there you are," Taylor said, stepping closer to the young man. Lucas stopped scratching and gave a wave in response. "Are you feeling better?"

Lucas sighed. "You know, I really hate to say this, but yeah, I am," he told his father. "I mean, I still have a little headache, but it's a lot better than before."

The commander furrowed his brows. "You _hate_ to say you're feeling better? I don't understand. Shouldn't you be glad for that?"

"Yeah, but…" Lucas fidgeted. He briefly scratched his left shoulder blade, then let his hand drop. "I still think I could have handled it without the stupid leech."

"Okay," Taylor replied, chuckling. "Well, you're feeling better, and that's the important thing, right?"

"If you say so…"

"Now get up," Taylor requested. "There's something I want to show you."

Lucas tilted his head. "What is it?"

"You'll see," Taylor said. "Come on."

"Oh, no, no, no." Lucas shook his head, raising his index finger. "Uh-uh. I am _not_ going anywhere now."

"What—"

"You promised I would get to sit here for an hour. I've only been here for a couple of minutes," Lucas explained.

"I'll let you sit there later. Now I just want to show you something before it goes away. Come on," Taylor urged.

"Seriously, what is it?" Lucas asked.

"You'll see. Now up on your feet. Chop-chop!" His son rolled his eyes but stood up nevertheless. Taylor smiled. "Let's go!" The old man turned around, walking towards the door.

Lucas followed him. However, as soon as they reached the doorway, he stopped in his tracks. "Hey," he spoke up, prompting Taylor to stop as well. "I'll go with you, but _only_ if you do something for me in return."

"What?" Taylor asked.

"Scratch my back. The spot where the leech was," Lucas demanded. Taylor raised his eyebrows, confused by the request. "I can't reach it," the boy explained. "They rubbed some ointment on it—to help the healing, I think—, but now it's itching."

"Are you sure you're allowed to scratch it now that it's healing?"

He was not. The doctor had said so. However, if he told his father that, then the man would refuse to help him. "I'm sure it's fine," he claimed. "They taped gauze over it."

"Well, don't you think the reason they taped it over is because it's not supposed to be disturbed?" Taylor questioned.

Lucas let out a breath, then sucked in his lips, biting the upper one. "You know what?" he said. "I don't care. It's _really_ itchy." He tried to reach for the spot from below by bending his arm behind his back, but with no success. "Damn…"

"Yeah…" Taylor flattened his lips, then shook his head. "I don't want to disrupt the healing process."

Lucas scowled at his father. "Hey, earlier today, you were all, 'If you're feeling bad, you've got to do something about it to feel better.' Well, now I'm feeling bad, and I'm asking you to give me a hand. Why won't you help me?"

"I am helping you," Taylor claimed. Lucas opened his mouth to protest, but the father kept on speaking, "I'm helping you by not doing what you're asking so that your wound could heal right."

"But it's itchy!"

"No."

" _Pleeease_!" Lucas begged, prolonging the word.

"I'm not scratching you," Taylor insisted. With his mouth closed, Lucas let out a sound that resembled the whimpering of a hungry, pleading puppy. "Whine all you want, I'm not doing it. Now come on!" After those words, Taylor turned around and began walking away.

Lucas pouted. He stood on top of the stairs to see if Taylor would come back for him and agree to scratch him after all. Unfortunately for him, the old man kept on walking. He did not even seem to realize Lucas was not following him. After a few seconds, the teenager sighed, then rushed down the stairs. "You are cruel," he grumbled as soon as he caught up to the commander.

"Mm-hm," was Taylor's whole response, prompting Lucas to pout yet again.

Taylor led him past the market place, going near the fence. Lucas once again tried reaching for the itchy spot—once again unsuccessfully.

"Stop trying to scratch it," the commander ordered, not slowing down his pace.

"Well, I can't reach it, anyway," Lucas said. He narrowed his eyes at his father. "I bet you're enjoying this."

Taylor furrowed his brows. "And why would I?"

"Because you just _love_ frustrating me," Lucas answered. "I bet you think I deserve this."

"Come on, I don't think that."

"Yeah, I bet…" Since bending his arm behind his back or reaching over his left shoulder had not worked, Lucas tried reaching over his right shoulder. He raised his right arm, bending the elbow and reaching down. He managed to scratch his shoulder blade, but not the spot that itched. "Argh!" he groaned, letting his arm down. "I can't do it. See, I bet this is why they attached the leech to my back, because it's the _one spot_ I can't reach. They must be having a _real_ good laugh about it right now…"

Taylor looked at his son as they walked, and he could not help but chuckle. "You know," he said, "I was hoping that, maybe, in the time that I was gone, you'd have grown a little more, uh, mature. …since you had to take care of yourself… But I can see that I was wrong."

"Oh, give me a break…"

"You are such a child!"

Taylor laughed again, and Lucas frowned. "Well, _excuse me_ , but I'm frustrated, and no one wants to help me." He tried reaching for the spot once more, only briefly, then gave up when he realized it led nowhere. Lucas groaned.

"You poor thing…" Taylor replied sarcastically, prompting Lucas to glare at him. "Seriously, what would the doctor think if she saw you right now? 'Cause when I was there, she said you were handling it really well."

"What?" Lucas questioned, furrowing his brows. "When did she say that?"

"Well, I went there to see if you were done yet. She said you'd left a couple of minutes ago," the father explained. "And when I asked her how it went, she said it went fine and that you handled it really nicely."

Lucas stopped in his tracks. Only for a moment. As soon as his father noticed and looked back at him, he started walking again. "She said that?" he asked the commander, trying as hard as he could to make his voice sound nonchalant.

"Yeah. She said you didn't make a peep while she was pulling the leech off."

"Why would I peep?"

"Well, I haven't gone through it myself, but from what I hear, it hurts," Taylor said.

Lucas smiled. "Does it?"

"I thought you went through it," Taylor replied.

Lucas hid his smile. Without even thinking about it, his right arm went over his left shoulder again. "Yeah, I, I did, I just… It didn't really hurt much," he claimed.

"And where is that bravery now, huh?" Taylor said. "Stop scratching yourself already!" Lucas quickly let his arm drop. He glanced away from his father as if in shame. "Look, just let it be for a while and try not to think about it. I'm sure it'll stop itching in a few minutes."

Lucas sighed. "You'd better be right…"

"So how did the procedure go after I left?" Taylor inquired, attempting to strike up a conversation about something other than Lucas's scratching and his own cruelty.

Lucas took in a breath. "Well, first they left the leech on for about half an hour, then they pulled it off, cleaned the wound… Then they let me bleed for a while because… something about oxygen, I don't know. And then they rubbed the ointment on it. They gave me a painkiller when I said my head was still hurting a little, and they let me go."

"So it wasn't too bad, was it?" Taylor asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

They walked for about ten minutes, during which Lucas sporadically tried reaching for that itchy spot on his back. He failed every time. Finally, they came up to the place Taylor had wanted to take Lucas to. The son did not even have to ask what it was Taylor wanted to show him—he could see it clearly.

Half-way between the fence and the forest behind it, two dinosaurs walked. They seemed huge. Even their legs must have been taller than his whole body. They had four legs each, tails, fat bellies and very long necks, which, ironically, supported rather small heads. He was pretty sure he had seen their photos in the literature provided by Hope Plaza, and even before that he had seen pictures of some similar dinosaurs. What was their name again? Bronto—

"Those are brachiosaurs," Taylor answered the question Lucas had not asked out loud.

Well, he got the initial letter right.

"They live nearby," Taylor said, prompting Lucas to raise his eyebrows at him. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"Uh…" Frowning, Lucas looked back at the giant creatures. He tried to remember what he had read about them, whether they were dangerous or not. _'I should have read it more carefully,'_ he thought. Well, since they were living so close to the colony and Taylor was being so nonchalant about it, he figured they must have been harmless. …unless his father had brought him there to have them kill him, which he doubted. "These are herbivores, right?" Lucas asked.

"Well, they're not herbivores," Taylor answered, "but they don't eat people, no."

So they _were_ harmless. He was right. "Good." He would have to re-read the literature they had given him. He didn't even remember it saying anything about treatments for hyperoxia and how much they would itch.

"What do you think about them?"

True, he had only skimmed the part about hyperoxia, but he really couldn't remember any mention of the word 'leech.' Let alone 'giant, itchy leech.' "Umm…" What had his father just said? Oh, right, he had asked about the dinosaurs. "They look…" What was it they reminded him of? Besides the pictures he had seen of them. One of the brachiosaurs stopped, lowering its head to look at something on the ground. After a moment, it raised its head again and began walking after its friend. "…a bit like giraffes," Lucas said finally, "except more boring."

"Boring?"

"Well, they're gray." He reached over his left shoulder again, trying to scratch. Maybe it wasn't his fault he didn't remember reading about leeches. Maybe they just weren't mentioned in the materials.

"Hey, gray is a nice color," Taylor defended the dinosaurs. "It doesn't make them boring."

"Meh."

"Come on, just look at them. Aren't they gorgeous?" The brachiosaurs turned their direction—instead of walking along the fence, they started to walk away from it, towards the jungle.

"Yeah, they're super cute, super pretty…" the young man said, but Taylor was disappointed by his tone, which sounded more bored than it had in… possibly ever. Lucas actually did find them _kind of_ pretty. Their size was a bit intimidating, and it was not easy to appreciate the world around him when his itch was distracting him (and ruining his mood), but still. However, he did not want to admit that to his father. He did not want to admit that to himself, either. After all, he was supposed to hate the place. He was there for a reason, and the reason was to destroy. Lucas switched his hands, trying to scratch himself with the left one. He turned his head as much as he could to look at his back, then he looked up. "Huh."

Taylor eyed his son, furrowing his brows when he saw the boy gazing up at the sky. "What?"

"That's funny," Lucas said. He pointed at one of the white clouds above. "That cloud is shaped like a flower."

"Why are you looking at clouds now?" Taylor asked, shaking his head. "Look over there. There's—"

Lucas fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Brontosaurs, really pretty…"

The commander frowned. "They're called brachiosaurs."

"That's what I said."

Taylor sighed. He looked back at the dinosaurs, watching them walk to the forest. They were close it by then. It only took seconds before they reached their destination. They stopped and extended their necks. Each grabbed a branch by the teeth and started chewing.

"Hey, what do brontosaurs look like?" Lucas spoke up.

"I think they're similar to these," Taylor replied, not taking his eyes off the animals, "but brontosaurs don't live in Terra Nova."

"Hmm…"

Suddenly, Taylor heard a crack—the kind of crack joints make when bending. It was quite loud, too. He turned to look at his son, and found him with his right arm over his left shoulder again, desperately trying to reach the itchy spot on his back. When Lucas noticed his father was watching him, he lowered his arm and glanced away with a guilty look on his face. "Was that your shoulder cracking?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah," Lucas admitted, giving a nod.

"Oh, my god!" The father fought off the urge to smack his forehead. "Why are you still trying to scratch? You know you can't reach it. Give it up already!"

Lucas frowned. "In my defense," he said, "I don't even want to scratch. It's instinct. I don't think about doing it, I just do it."

"Well, stop!" Taylor insisted.

Frustrated, Lucas let out a breath. "Well, I'm sorry, but when you're itching, you scratch. That's the normal human response." Taylor shook his head. Suddenly, Lucas gasped and smacked his own mouth as if in realization he had said something inappropriate. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he said, lowering his hand. "I forgot—you wouldn't know that, you're a robot."

"I am not a robot," Taylor argued.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Lying to yourself won't make it true."

Lucas reached over his shoulder again. He tried extending his arm more, producing another crack. Frowning, Taylor took hold of Lucas's arm and forced it down. "Stop it or, I swear to god, I will tie your hands up." Lucas scowled at him but did not raise his arm again. "Just don't think about it, okay? Look at the brachiosaurs instead," Taylor said, pointing at them. "Look at them, chewing those leaves."

Lucas sighed. Nonetheless, he did as he had been told. The dinosaurs were munching on the green with great gusto. He kind of wished he were the leaves. He imagined the brachiosaur's teeth—sharp, hopefully—running down his back, scratching him on that one spot he could not scratch himself. Or biting his head off so that he could no longer think about how much his back was itching. Either would do.

"Hey! No scratching!" Taylor interrupted Lucas's musing when he saw the boy raise his arm.

Lucas blinked, realizing what he was doing. "I wasn't going to scratch."

"Then what were you doing?"

Lucas squirmed under his father's gaze, shifting his weight on his feet. " _I_ was not doing anything," he claimed. "It was all my instinct. You can't blame me for that!"

"I can, actually," Taylor argued, prompting Lucas to frown yet again. The boy looked away and continued trying to reach for the wound. The commander took in a breath, holding back his frustration. Then he got an idea. If threats had not worked, perhaps bribery would. "Okay, kid, how about this?" he spoke up. "If you stop scratching and leave it to heal, I'll let you sit in my chair for two hours instead of one."

Immediately, Lucas's arms were hanging down by his sides.

"Attaboy."

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

After another minute of watching the dinosaurs and squirming because it was still itching like crazy but he wasn't allowed to scratch, the two Taylors went back to the command center. Upon arriving to the square in front of it, Taylor gave a nod towards the compound. "Okay," the man said, "you go up there and have your lollipop. I'll be there soon."

Lucas furrowed his brows. "What lollipop?"

The father smiled. "Well, this is exactly like a lollipop for bravery, don't you think?"

Lucas waited for two seconds if Taylor would explain that statement. When the man said nothing, Lucas replied, "I don't follow."

"When you were little?" Taylor told him, voicing it as a question to see if Lucas would realize what he meant. "Whenever you'd go to a doctor for, like, a shot, you'd get a lollipop after that for being 'brave,' remember?" he said, and Lucas could not help but be insulted by the air quotes Taylor put there.

"Uh, yeah," the son responded slowly, frowning, "I, I remember that…"

"Well, this is the same, isn't it?" Taylor claimed. "You had a leech suck you out, you were brave, now you're getting a reward."

Lucas sighed. "I told you a hundred times already," he said, "I was not afraid of the leech."

"Then why didn't you want to go there?" Taylor asked. Lucas did not respond. He just glanced away, shifting his weight on his feet and sticking his hands in his pockets. The commander nodded. "Right."

Lucas gave a chuckle. "Are you saying this is supposed to be a reward for 'bravery'?" he asked, adding the air quotes as well.

"What did you think it was?" Taylor questioned.

"I don't know. A reward for a _service_ ," Lucas responded. "I did something _you_ wanted, so now I'd get to do something _I_ wanted. Do you _actually_ think I'm _that_ soft? That I'm afraid of seeing a doctor?"

"Well…"

Lucas glared at his father with an open mouth, clearly offended. "I am _not_ soft." He was close to gritting his teeth as he spoke. "I am anything _but_!" he said, raising his voice a bit.

Taylor shrugged. "Well, I did have to bribe you to get you there."

"Well, you know what?" Lucas said, still glaring. "I don't want that bribe anymore. I am not a child! Keep your stupid lollipop."

"I—"

"Do you think I need it? 'Cause I don't!" Lucas continued ranting, not letting Taylor speak. "I thought it would be fun, but if you only gave to me because you think I'm _weak_ — _Waaait_ _a minute_ …" His voice trailed off as a thought hit him. He narrowed his eyes at the commander, keeping his lips parted.

The old man shook his head. "Lucas, I didn't mean—"

"Of course! I see what you're doing now," he cut in. He glanced aside, then looked back at his father with a grin on his face. "Clever."

"What?" Taylor asked, confused.

"You thought insulting me would make me not want to take you up on your end of the deal," Lucas claimed. "You thought you'd get mine and keep yours. Well, guess what?"

Taylor furrowed his brows. "I did not think—"

"It's not going to work," Lucas interrupted again. He pointed at the command center, practically stabbing the air with his finger. "I am going to go up there," he said, "and I am going to sit in your chair with my feet up on your _beloved_ , _beautiful_ desk, and I am going to enjoy _every_ _second_ of it." The kid started walking backwards to the stairs leading up, not taking his eyes—wide, gloating, nearly crazed eyes—off his father. "Two hours," he all but hissed. " _Mine_."

Finally, the young man turned around and ran upstairs, leaving his bewildered father behind.

He strode to his father's office, eager to sit in his throne. Upon walking in, he discovered that Lieutenant Washington was occupying the seat. _'Damn.'_

The woman was holding a plex in her hand, tapping on the screen. When she heard Lucas walk in, she looked up at him. "Oh, hey," she greeted, putting her plex on the table. "Have you been to the infirmary, or are you still insisting you're fine?"

Lucas did not answer her question. He stared at her in silence for a couple of seconds, ignoring her raised eyebrows. Afterwards, he stepped to the desk. "I need you to get up from that chair," he informed her. "Now."

Washington blinked. "Why?"

"I have it reserved for the next two hours," he claimed.

"What?"

"Just get up," he requested curtly. He knew he was not showing refined manners, but he was in a bad mood and wanted to get the one cool thing in Terra Nova as promised. Washington frowned, giving him a look. The stare in his eyes softened. "Please," he added, hoping politeness would persuade her. Sighing, Washington stood up. She did not understand why he insisted on sitting in that particular chair, but since she did not care where she herself would sit, she decided to grant him the favor. She walked around the desk, but Lucas stopped her before she could go any farther. "Oh, hey, um…" he spoke up, then hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Before you go," he requested, "could you scratch my back?" After all, the deal was that he himself would stop scratching, not that he would stop asking others to do it. What more than that, Taylor was not even there to see it.

Washington, not aware of Lucas's itch, just stared at him. Her eyes were filled with confusion and something Lucas guessed was mild disgust. "What?"

The youth sighed, then waved it off. "Never mind." Trying to ignore the itch, Lucas went over to his father's chair. He took a seat, leaned back and put his feet up on the skull-supported desk.

"What are you doing?" the lieutenant inquired, clearly not approving of it.

Lucas clasped his hands behind his head and smiled. "Enjoying myself," he replied.

Washington tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "What would your father say?"

"Oh, it's okay. He knows about this," Lucas told her. "Actually, this was his idea. It's my lollipop."

Wash furrowed her brows. "Your what?"

"Lollipop," he responded, not clarifying his statement at all.

"What does that mean?"

"Uh, a candy on a stick?" he replied. He voiced the answer as a question to show he was confused by her confusion.

"I know what a lollipop is," Wash said.

"Then why did you ask what it meant?" Of course, he knew why she had asked. However, admitting it and actually explaining it to her would not have been as fun.

"I wasn't asking what it meant," Wash claimed. "I was…" Her voice trailed off. Lucas gazed at her with the most innocent eyes he could feign. The woman put her hands up, giving up on trying to get an answer out of him. "Never mind," she said. She looked at her plex, then briefly glanced up at Lucas. "I'll just take this over there," she said and pointed at a table that was to the left of the front door.

"Good."

The lieutenant went there and sat down with her back to Lucas. The young man smiled. He adjusted his feet (resting the right one on top of his left ankle), closed his eyes and tried to get his mind to relax.

* * *

Author's note

Howdy again and thanks for reading! How about another sneek peak for the next chapter? Here: "I'm ashamed to be your family now."

BTW I deleted a very short scene—actually just a part of a scene—from this chapter: after Lucas curtly asked Wash to get up and she frowned at him, I originally had Lucas roll his eyes at her (something she did not like). I thought it would be fun to make Lucas roll his eyes at Wash as much as possible, seeing as he did it even before killing her. :D In the end, I decided that having it in chapter 5 was enough.


	7. Chapter 7

Later, Commander Taylor arrived to his office with a bag in his hand. His son was still seated behind his desk, his feet resting up on it. Taylor sent a nod to the boy, who replied with a smirk.

The soldier noticed Lieutenant Washington sitting behind a table on his left, a plex in her hand. "Hey," he spoke up, walking towards the woman, "how are the reports coming?"

She sighed. "Slowly, unfortunately."

"Listen, you don't have to work on them today," Taylor said. "It's Sunday. They're not that urgent."

"The sooner I work on them, the sooner it'll be behind me."

"You know," he told her, "the world wouldn't stop if you took a break, Wash." He could not even remember the last time she had done so. Since her arrival to Terra Nova, the lieutenant had been working too hard for her own good.

"Well, you never know," she said, turning her attention back to her plex.

The commander shook his head but decided to leave her be. Instead, he walked over to his son. "So," he said to him, "how are you enjoying sitting there?"

Lucas smiled. "Oh, I am."

"I don't understand what you like about it so much," Taylor told him. He sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk, placing his bag in his lap.

"Come on!" The youth tilted his head. "Be honest now: do you _never_ sit here with your feet up?"

"No, actually, I don't," Taylor replied.

"Seriously?" His father nodded. "Have you at least tried it?" Lucas asked.

"No, I have not."

"Oh, dear god!" Lucas all but cried out.

"Look, son—"

"Don't even call me that," he cut in. "I'm ashamed to be your family now."

Taylor gave a laugh. "Why?" he inquired. "Because I prefer politeness over comfort?"

Lucas looked up at the ceiling. "There it is again," he said, gesturing at his father but gazing up as if he was speaking to a higher power. Afterwards, the young man looked at Taylor and shook his head. "You can't be my father," he joked. "I bet I'm adopted and you just never told me."

Taylor chuckled, then responded, "Tough luck, kid, you're mine."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," the father insisted. "I was there when you were born."

"Well, I don't remember you being there, so…"

"Do you remember anything from when you were born?"

"No. What's your point?"

Taylor laughed again, and Lucas smirked. "Well, trust me, I was there," the old man told him. "I even cut your umbilical cord."

Upon hearing that, Lucas wrinkled his nose. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds disgusting," Lucas said, grimacing.

"Yeah, kind of," Taylor agreed. "But that's the magic of childbirth."

"Well, now I'm glad I don't remember it." Taking in a breath, Lucas clasped his hands behind his head.

Taylor smiled at him for a moment, then looked down at his bag. "Anyhow…" Opening it, the man took out a cup and a bottle filled with milkish liquid. "Lunchtime!" he announced, pouring from the bottle into the cup and placing it in front of his son.

Lucas frowned. "That milk again?"

"Three days, Lucas." The boy sighed. He picked up the cup, but then he stared at it instead of drinking. Meanwhile, Taylor reached into his bag again. He took out a sandwich for himself, then put the bag on the ground. "You know, I was thinking," he spoke up, "since I was about to have lunch, anyway, maybe I could eat here. What do you say?"

Lucas smiled, leaning forward. "Ooh, are you going to watch me as I sit here?"

Taylor gave a nod. "If you're willing to chat in the meantime."

Of course, there was a catch. Then again, Taylor would probably insist on chatting later, anyway. _'I might as well get it over with,'_ Lucas thought. In that spirit, he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. He was hoping that perhaps it would taste better to him than it had in the morning. He was wrong. Grimacing, he put the cup down. "Okay, I've got to say," he told his father, "this is really disgusting."

"Well, I've got to say," Taylor replied, "I think you've complained about it enough."

Suddenly, Lucas heard Lieutenant Washington chuckle. The boy frowned. "Is she laughing at me?" he asked his father, who shrugged in response. Lucas looked over at the woman, still sitting behind the table. "This is a private conversation! Stop listening!" he called out at her. "And FYI," he said, looking back at his father, "there is no such thing as enough complaining."

"Oh, is that so?" Taylor replied. "And how would you like it if _I_ started complaining about everything?"

Lucas raised his brows. "'Started'?"

"I don't complain," the commander claimed, prompting Lucas to snort.

"Yeah, right!" He shook his head. "Just a few seconds ago, you complained about me complaining."

"That doesn't count."

"Yes, it does."

Taylor sighed. "Okay, fine" he said. "So how about we both stop complaining and catch up instead?"

"Catch up on what?" Lucas asked.

"Our lives."

Taking in a breath, Lucas leaned back and stretched his arms. "Well, we can't talk about those now, can we?"

Taylor blinked. "Why couldn't we?"

"Because that's a private topic," Lucas explained, glancing at the lieutenant, "and we do not currently have privacy."

Washington, having heard the conversation, put her plex down and turned to look at them. "I'm sorry, do you want me to leave you two alone?" she asked.

"Oh, on the contrary," Lucas informed her, smiling, "I want you to stay as long as you can. It's a great excuse for not talking to my _supposed_ father."

Taylor furrowed his brows. "Supposed?"

"I'm still not convinced," Lucas answered jokingly. The commander shook his head, prompting Lucas to smirk.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Washington stood up and grabbed her plex. She turned to the Taylors and took a step forward. "I'm going to take this somewhere else," she told them. After those words, she headed for the door.

"Traitor!" Lucas called out at her. The woman ignored him and left the building.

As soon as Washington was gone, Taylor spoke up, "So can we catch up now that we're alone?" His son let out a deep, heavy sigh. "Well, don't hold back your excitement," Taylor said, frowning.

"To be honest," Lucas told him, "I still don't feel like talking to you."

"Are you still sick?" the father inquired, looking at his son with concern.

"What? No! I'm not sick." Lucas shook his head.

"Then why don't you 'feel like' talking?"

"Don't act so surprised. I _never_ feel like talking to you," Lucas claimed, even though it was not entirely true.

"Right." Taylor sighed. "Well, I'm not going to sit here and watch you if we're not talking."

In response to that, Lucas heaved another sigh of his own. Nonetheless, he relented. "Fine," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"What's new in your life?" the father inquired. Afterwards, he took a bite from his sandwich.

 _'Many things,'_ Lucas thought. "Nothing much," Lucas said.

Taylor leaned back in his chair. Once he finished chewing his mouthful, he asked, "Care to elaborate on that?"

"I would," Lucas told him, "but there's not much to elaborate on."

"Is that so?"

"I've had pretty quiet five months," he lied.

"Hmm…" Taylor was silent for a moment, wondering what kind of question might make his son speak a little more. "How was your Christmas?" Lucas shrugged. "You know, that was the first Christmas we didn't spend together since you were born."

"Yeah, I know," Lucas replied. "It was nice. Peaceful."

"Mine was pretty hectic," Taylor said. "With the colony just starting, the fence was being built, and we had to keep all the dinos out."

"Hmph."

"It was kind of fun at times, actually. Brachiosaurs were trouble sometimes. Not that they were attacking or anything, but they were curious and kept getting in the way." The old man gave a chuckle at the memories. Lucas only gave a nod. "They're really nice animals, you know?" Taylor said. "Carnotaurs were worse."

"Carnivores?" Lucas asked.

The commander nodded. "Yeah. Some of them live north-east from here. They're not that close to the colony, but once two were following a prey and they came straight to the half‑built fence. They almost killed one of our builders; fortunately, he survived. They're really big, you know? And fast. You couldn't outrun those."

"Well, hopefully, I won't have to," Lucas said.

"Well, as I said, they don't live that close, so…"

There was silence for a few seconds, as if neither of them knew what to say. While Lucas did not know due to the fact he did not want to talk, Taylor did not know because he wanted to make Lucas talk. The years during which many of their conversations consisted of 'Hey, I'm home. – Hey, Dad. – Have you eaten yet? – No, not yet. – All right. Well, I'll go make dinner now. – Okay. Thanks.' and not much else—those had taken their toll. The two were not sure how to chat together anymore; the attempt to felt awkward.

"Well, um," the father spoke up again, "anyway, I'm glad you had a nice Christmas."

"Me, too."

Silence.

Lucas took another sip of the milk. He grimaced at the taste, then stared at the cup in his hand.

Taylor raised the sandwich to his mouth, then lowered it without taking a bite. "Hey, uh," he said after a second, "I heard there was a terrorist attack at Hope Plaza around New Year's." Lucas looked up at him. "Were you there when it happened?"

There was a beat before Lucas answered. "No," he said, shaking his head. He looked away from his father, back at the cup of milk. "No, I wasn't there on that day," he lied. He really did not want to talk to his father about that.

"Good," Taylor said, "I'm really glad to hear that."

Lucas raised the cup to his lips and drank a whole mouthful that time. The attack at Hope Plaza had not been nearly as bloody as Somalia; in fact, it had been quashed rather quickly. Still, it was not a topic he was eager to discuss, for more reasons than one. After all, what was he supposed to say? 'Yeah, I was there. Actually, I shot one of the terrorists. After that, I was arrested. Oh, but not for killing the man, no. That was A-okay, self-defense and all. Just for owning a firearm without a permit. Because, in the eyes of the law, not having a stupid document is worse than taking someone's life. Bureaucracy, am I right? I swear, it was invented by the devil. Who cares if I have a license or not? I was just trying to protect myself! Anyway, I spent a day in a cell, but then my employers—the ones you don't know about—bribed someone, paid for my freedom, so it was fine in the end. Well, to be honest, I spent the next few days feeling like life was meaningless and senseless and society was doomed to destroy itself by its stupidity and the idiotic laws it has, but eventually I got over that.' Lucas lowered his cup. _'I couldn't tell him that even if I wanted to,'_ he thought.

"Well," Taylor spoke up, prompting his son to look at him once more, "let's hope nothing like that will ever happen here."

The young man smiled. "Fingers crossed."

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

The Taylors (mainly the older one) continued attempting to chat. After discussing the holidays they had not spent together, the commander tried to get young physicist to talk about his work (unsuccessfully—Lucas dismissed Taylor's questions with a biting 'Like you said about my thesis: you wouldn't understand it, anyway.'). Taylor then spoke some more as he talked about the colony, the jungle and the dinosaurs that lived there.

Thirty minutes later, Taylor had finished eating yet was still sitting there talking. Lucas, on the other hand, had drunk a mere half of his cup. He never took a deep draft of the milk, resorting to sporadic sipping. He knew it would have been better to suffer through drinking the whole remainder at once and getting it over with. In spite of that, he decided to keep on taking one sip at a time.

During yet another awkward silence, Lucas spoke up for the first time without being prompted. "Hey," he asked a question he had been thinking about, "do you think brachiosaurs are related to giraffes?"

Taylor raised his eyebrows. "Giraffes?"

"They both have those long necks," Lucas said.

"Yeah, but… I don't know." Taylor shook his head. "I don't think they're related."

"Well, they're not the same," Lucas responded, giving a nod. "Giraffes are slimmer and more colorful."

"Yeah."

"I like giraffes," Lucas said. "They're pretty. I mean, I've never seen them live, but… They seem pretty in pictures."

The father nodded. After a moment, a fond smile appeared on his face, and he asked, "Hey, didn't you use to have a plush giraffe when you were little?"

"Yeah, I did," Lucas replied, smiling as well. "Spot, that was her name. She was cute."

Taylor chuckled. "'She'?"

"Well, she had eyelashes," Lucas explained. "They were just drawn, I think, but they were long."

Taylor replied with a single nod to show he understood where Lucas got the gender from.

Silence.

The commander stared at his son. "Speaking of long hairs," he said after a few seconds, tilting his head, "don't you think you should get a haircut?" As soon as Taylor said that, Lucas visibly clenched his jaw. He glared at his father, his nostrils flaring. "What?"

"Seriously?" Lucas all but snapped, raising his voice.

"What? What did I do?" Taylor asked, confused.

The teen shook his head, biting his upper lip. "I don't even know why I'm surprised," he said, more to himself than to his father. "If anything, I should be surprised that wasn't the first thing you said to me when I walked through the portal."

"What—"

"Why do you _always_ have to criticize me?" Always criticizing. Always finding imperfections. He would never be good enough for his father, he was sure of that.

"I wasn't criticizing you," Taylor said. "Your hair just looks a little grown‑out, that's all."

Lucas scowled. He raised his index finger, stabbing the air as he pointed at his father. " _That_ ," he said through gritted teeth, " _is_ criticism."

"That is not!" Taylor argued. "Don't be so sensitive about everything I say."

"Oh, right! It's _my_ fault. _I'm_ sensitive. _O-kay_!" Lucas snorted, then looked down at the ground.

The father shook his head. "Hey, if you want to keep your hair like this, fine. Be my guest. It doesn't bother me," he told him. "I'm just used to it being shorter, that's all. There's no need for you to get upset."

Lucas briefly pressed his tongue against his cheek, then gazed up at his father. "Well," he said, "I wasn't used to your beard, but did I criticize you when you decided to grow it? The answer is no. I did not."

Taylor sighed. "First, I wasn't criticizing, and second… why would you criticize my beard?" he asked. "It looks terrific!"

Lucas shrugged. "Meh."

"Pff!" The commander frowned and shook his head, seemingly offended. Lucas smirked. On some other day, Taylor might have been insulted by Lucas's implying that his beard was not, in fact, awesome. However, on that day, he was just glad to see Lucas's anger disappear. Suddenly, a thought hit him. Taylor glanced aside, remembering what had happened. "Wait…" he said. He narrowed his eyes and looked back at Lucas. "Didn't you give me a razor for Christmas that year so that I could shave it off?"

Lucas shrugged once more. "So?"

"Well, you just said you hadn't criticized me, but apparently…"

"Hang on! That was _not_ criticism. That was doing you a _favor_ ," Lucas claimed. Taylor chuckled at that, and Lucas could not help doing so himself.

Silence fell again for a few seconds before the father broke it. "Hey," he spoke up, "do you remember the time I wanted to grow a mustache?"

"When was that?" Lucas asked, his memory coming up empty.

"When you were little," Taylor answered. "You didn't even know the word 'mustache' back then, you called it 'nose hair.' And you thought it looked silly. You practically begged me to let you help me shave it off."

"I did?"

"Oh, yeah," Taylor said, nodding. "You used to love helping me shave, rubbing shaving cream all over my face… Don't you remember that?"

Lucas thought back to his childhood, staring into space. "Uh, vaguely…"

Taylor looked down at his hands, reminiscing. The boy used to be so sweet… He had loved helping his parents with everything: shaving, cleaning the house, doing dishes, et cetera. Of course, he had not been very skilled (if anything, his early attempts to help had only made things more difficult for his parents), but he had been small and adorable and Taylor had loved watching him try. "Yeah, you were just a little peanut back then…"

"Are you saying I'm not a peanut anymore?" Lucas inquired, frowning as though he was insulted. "But you called me that this morning."

"Well, yeah, but, uh…" Taylor paused and took in a breath, trying to find the right words. "The thing is," he said, "now you're a _big_ peanut. Back then, you were little."

"I see."

"Actually, you were about the size of one."

Lucas furrowed his brows. "The size of a peanut?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so."

"Believe me, you were," Taylor insisted. "Why do you think I called you that?" His boy shrugged. "Well, 'cause you looked just like a peanut, size and everything."

"Oh. Okay then." Both men chuckled, after which there was silence.

Taylor leaned back in his chair, watching his son. Lucas had changed a lot over the years. The sweet, loving child had become an angry, defiant young man. The father still loved his son, of course, but he would have been lying if he had said that he never found himself wishing he could have gone 10–15 years back in time instead of 85 million. …gone to any time when his son had not hated him and when his wife had been alive. "I miss those days," he admitted.

Lucas sighed. He gazed down, a sad frown making its way to his lips. "Me too," he all but whispered.

Commander Taylor took in his son's wistful expression. He knew the thing Lucas missed most was the same thing he missed—or the same person. Ayani. "You miss your mother, huh?" Taylor said. Lucas looked up at him but did not reply. He did not have to. The father nodded. "I miss her, too," he told him. Lucas stayed silent, but the expression on his face darkened. "You know," Taylor spoke up, "I really wish she were alive to come here."

Lucas clenched his jaw, glancing aside for a second. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. He glared at his father with fire in his eyes, not blinking at all. "Well," he said, his words laced with bitterness, "if you want her here so much, why didn't you bring her?"

Taylor raised his brows. He considered defending himself, saying he had not wanted to let Ayani die but had had no choice. However, he knew from past experiences that saying so had only ever led to Lucas getting angry. Instead, he simply said, "Okay."

"No, really," Lucas insisted. He still had not blinked. "Why didn't you?"

Taylor took in a breath. "You know that I couldn't have."

"No, actually, you could have." His voice sounded eerily calm, and his lack of blinking was starting to disturb the old man. "But you know that."

There was silence for a couple of seconds. The Taylors seemed to be engaged in a staring contest, both challenging the other to admit the truth, neither willing to accept the lie. Nonetheless, it did not take long before the kid won, despite the fact that his eyes were burning like crazy. "You know what?" the commander said, glancing away. Lucas finally blinked, relieving the tension in his eyes. "Let's drop this subject," Taylor suggested. "I have not seen you in half a year. I really don't want to argue with you now that—"

"Wow, that's new," Lucas cut in. "You don't want to argue? Does that mean we're going to stop talking forever? Because I'd actually be fine with that." He would not have been fine with that. Not at all. He knew it from experience. However, he was not going to admit that.

"We don't have to stop talking," Taylor responded. "We can just talk about something else."

Lucas snorted. "Let's be honest," he said, "we'll end up having a fight no matter what we'll talk about."

"Or maybe we'll end up having a nice, peaceful conversation," Taylor replied. He proceeded to give an unusually warm smile. "Let's try that instead."

Lucas sighed. "Sure," he said, even though he did not believe that was possible. "Let's give it a shot."

After that, the question of whether or not Commander Taylor could have saved his wife was dropped. Their answers to it had been the opposites, but they both had been right—each in his own way. And yet, neither of them realized their ways of understanding it were not the same. All because Taylor's 'could' included an unpronounced 'also,' while Lucas's contained an 'instead.'

* * *

Author's note

Oh, the misunderstanding between Taylor and Lucas will be the death of me. Just imagine if one of them had ever bothered to explain himself clearly, or if one of them had bothered to ask how the other meant it instead of making wrong assumptions. Then Lucas would have found out Taylor didn't blame him and Taylor would have found out Lucas didn't blame him and they would have made up and been a happy family and _Terra Nova_ would have been a less epic and more boring show but it would have been a less heart-breaking and more sweet show… (To quote Romain Rolland's _Pierre and Luce_ : "Both of them suffered and, through a too common misunderstanding, their suffering, so much alike, so near, which ought to have brought them together, only separated them.")

Anyway, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed and that you will come back for the next chapter. Here, have another sneak peek: "Taylor furrowed his brows. If his son was asking him not to get mad, that probably meant he would, in fact, get mad." Now if you want to find out what it was that Lucas did, you'll _have to_ read the next chapter. How clever of me to include this sneak peek, huh? :D Okay, see ya next time!


	8. Chapter 8

A few more minutes had passed. Lucas finished sipping his milk, prompting his father to comment, "Finally! Took you long enough." Lucas frowned at him. The commander ignored that. He took the empty cup—and, much to his son's disappointment, filled it up with more milk. Lucas frowned again. "Don't give me that look, kid," Taylor said while putting the cup back on the table. "You've got to drink."

"No, I don't," Lucas replied. "I've had one cup, I think that's enough for now. Actually, I think that's enough for eternity."

"Come on, it's one cup," Taylor urged. "Can't you handle drinking just one more cup?"

"I can handle it with no problem," Lucas claimed. "I just don't want to."

Taylor blinked. "Really? No problem?" he questioned. "It seemed to me you had a pretty big problem with the first cup. You were sipping it for half an hour."

"I—" Lucas opened his mouth as if to respond, yet it took him a couple of seconds to find his words. Taylor raised his eyebrows at him. "That wasn't because I couldn't handle it!" the young man defended himself. "That was…" His voice trailed off.

"What?"

"You know what?" he said, leaning forward. "Here." He grabbed the cup of milk and raised it to his lips. After giving his father a look, he downed its contents at once. Good grief, was it gross! He had to fight hard not to grimace at the taste—or, god forbid, puke. In spite of his efforts, there was a frown on his face as he put the empty cup down. He exhaled, then looked up at his father. "Happy?" he asked.

"Very," Taylor said, smiling. "Want another one?"

"No!"

"Okay, then." Taylor chuckled.

"I mean," Lucas said, "I could handle it, you know? I _could_ , believe me," he insisted. He really did not want his father to think he was too much of a wimp to handle drinking something only because it did not taste great. "I just don't want to because…" He paused for a second. "I want to save it for later."

"If you say so…" Taylor took the cup and put it and the bottle into his bag. Afterwards, the commander leaned back. He eyed his son. The boy had been sitting in that chair for about an hour by then. While he had promised the kid two, he figured one was enough to get at once. "Hey, can I suggest something?" Taylor spoke up. "I know you still have an hour in my chair left, but how about you get it some other time? We could go walk through the rest of the colony now. I don't know if I'll get called away again later, and I was kind of hoping to get that done today."

"Sure." Lucas gave a nod. Immediately, his feet were down on the floor.

"Really?" Taylor asked while Lucas stood up. "You don't mind?" He had not expected his son to agree so readily.

"To be honest with you," the boy said as he stretched his body, "I was sitting in the same position for so long, it was starting to get uncomfortable."

Taylor laughed at that. Lucas frowned once again.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

They were walking through a part of Terra Nova which was surrounded by the wooden fence yet contained nothing but trees. His father insisted on showing him the entire colony, even the parts where nothing had been built yet. It was like walking through the jungle, except he knew he was (supposed to be) safe.

"Dad?" Lucas spoke up as they walked, prompting Taylor to look at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Was it hard? Staying in the jungle on your own?" Lucas inquired. Taylor gave him a look, and Lucas added, "I mean, obviously, it must have been hard, but… I, I guess I'm trying to ask _how_ hard it was. It's just…" He paused, trying to find the right words. His father waited for him to finish the thought. "Well, you see, when they first told me what happened with the portal—that it malfunctioned when you walked through it and… Honestly, my first thought was: 'He must be dead now.' I mean, _four months_. That's insane! The idea that you would survive out there, with all the dinosaurs and everything, all alone, for _so long_ … It seemed impossible. But you survived."

Taylor nodded. "I know what you mean," he said. "If I had been in your place and heard this happened to somebody, I wouldn't have thought they could have made it, either. Even now, having gone through it myself, I wouldn't find it likely. It was a tough experience."

"Yeah, but… you seem pretty okay now," Lucas replied. "You're still alive. You don't even seem scarred by that. And I don't mean just physical scars. I mean, you seem so _happy_ here, like you really love this place. One would think you'd hate it here after what you went through."

"Why would I hate it here? It's not like it was Terra Nova's fault I got stuck here alone."

Lucas considered saying that Taylor clearly did not have a problem with hating people for things that were not their fault, but he decided to stay on topic. "So how hard was it?"

Taylor took in a breath. "Some days were… really hard. Some days were more or less okay," he replied. "You know, it's funny, most people think the hardest part about living out there was fighting off dinosaurs, but honestly? The worst part was being alone all the time."

"Being alone?" Lucas questioned. "That doesn't sound dangerous."

"It wasn't 'dangerous' per se; it was just hard to handle," Taylor told him. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying living among dinosaurs wasn't hard. It was. But it was more of a… occasional hardship. Every now and then, I'd have a really big problem, but most of the time, I managed to steer clear of them. But the isolation? That was constant. I couldn't hide from that."

"Yeah, but still," Lucas said, "it's just being alone… I'm not saying it sounds like fun, but it doesn't seem that bad."

"Actually, in some ways, I'd go as far as to say it was good for me," the father claimed. "It gave me a lot of time to think, you know? About life, about what's important and what's not."

"Really?" The boy chuckled. "You never struck me as the philosophical type."

"Well, there are only so many things you can think about when you're alone," Taylor said, chuckling as well. "To be honest, sometimes I kind of want to go back there. Not for long, just for a day or two. Maybe even a week. Like on a vacation, to take a break, clear my head. It really helped me figure things out. On the other hand, being alone for long 118 days… That felt awful. Never being able to talk to anyone, not even see anyone… It's not easy to be isolated for such a long time. It's not easy at all. Frankly, there were days I worried I'd go crazy from the loneliness."

Lucas was surprised to hear that. Taylor had never struck him as all that social, either. Sure, the man had friends, but they were only the people he knew from work. In fact, he barely spent any time with them outside of work. Lucas had not realized those people were so important to his father. "If you say so…" Besides, he still found it hard to believe that loneliness could be more difficult to deal with than the threat of becoming dino-food. After all, he had been lonely ever since his mother had died, and he was still alive nearly five years later. He did not think he would survive five years among dinosaurs. Shaking off that thought, Lucas spoke up, "So, _Aristotle_ …" He chuckled to himself. "Amuse me: what is most important in life?"

A little smile appeared on Taylor's face. "Family," he answered.

"Ha!" Lucas laughed, and his father's smile suddenly turned into a frown. "Come on!" the youth said. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

Taylor blinked. "What, you don't think family's important?"

"I'm not saying I don't think so. I'm saying I don't believe that _you_ think so," Lucas clarified, his voice gaining a mere hint of bitterness.

"Oh, you think family doesn't matter to me?"

Lucas shrugged and nodded at the same time.

Taylor snorted. "Why do you think I wanted you to come here, genius?"

"Because if I had stayed in 2143, you wouldn't be able to get on my nerves?" His father shook his head while Lucas chuckled.

"Let's be honest," Taylor replied, "that's probably the reason _you_ came here."

Lucas smirked. His father was not far from the truth. Not far at all.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

They went around the whole colony. Taylor told Lucas not only about the places that were already there, but also about pretty much everything that was planned. Lucas wondered how many of those plans would come about before his employers would pillage the planet. He hoped it would not be a lot. The smaller the colony was, the easier it would be to defeat it.

Eventually, their walk led them back to where they had started—their house. "And, as you already know," Taylor said, nodding towards the yellow building, "this is your new home."

'Home.' It felt strange to hear his father say that. Not so much because it was new, but because he knew it would not last. Because he knew he could not want it to last. He had to hate it, did he not? A place he hated could not be considered 'home.'

"Hey, I have an idea," Taylor spoke up.

The young man looked at him, noting the father had a smile on his face. "What?"

"Why don't we take a picture here?" Taylor suggested.

"A picture?"

"Yeah," he said. "Let's take a photo in front of the house. Our first picture together in Terra Nova."

Lucas considered it for a second, then shook his head. "I don't want to take a picture."

"Why not?"

"I don't like taking pictures," Lucas claimed.

Taylor wrinkled his brows. "Since when?"

"Since you want to be in the picture, too." After all, wouldn't his handsome face fade in comparison with his father's ugliness? He mentally laughed at the thought.

"Oh, come on! Just one photo, that won't kill you," Taylor insisted. He looked into the bag he was carrying and starting rummaging in it as he spoke, "Years from now, we can look at it and remember the early days of the colony and the time you arrived and how nice that all was."

'Nice'? Lucas had spent his first day feeling so sick he ended up vomiting, and Taylor still called it 'nice'?

Finally, the father found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small, flat device with a tiny camera installed in it. He looked up at his son. "Let's do this." The man put his left arm around Lucas's waist and pulled him in front of the house's main entrance. Lucas groaned, but Taylor ignored that. Keeping his arm around the boy, he stood next to him. He raised his right hand, extending it before them. A screen on the device showed a preview of the picture they were about to take. They were standing a little too close in Lucas's opinion (he would have preferred standing at least five feet apart), but he did not comment on that. Taylor smiled for the camera and got ready to capture the moment.

Realizing his father was not going to relent, Lucas complied and looked at the camera as well. The expression on his face, however, remained displeased.

"Come on, smile!" Taylor urged.

He did not feel like smiling, not in the slightest. Nevertheless, he wanted to get it over with, and so he forced a smile as bright and toothy as he could manage.

One second later, a quiet click was heard. Taylor lowered his hand. "There we go," he said to himself. He tapped the device's screen, and the image he had just taken reappeared. "Aw, look at us." He chuckled, showing his son the photo.

It was an ordinary picture of two men, one young, at the mere beginning of adulthood, one older, with white hair to prove his years of wisdom. They were standing close next to each other, smiling at the camera. It looked sweet, actually. There was nothing in the picture to suggest it was fake. If it had been a photo of anybody else, Lucas would have been fooled into thinking the relationship between the two men was warm and loving. Into thinking the two led happy lives. _'If only…'_

"Isn't it nice?" Taylor said, admiring the photograph. "You have such a pretty smile there." It was not a smirk, it was not a grin of gloating amusement. The smile in the picture, while feigned, looked like a genuine smile of happiness. It was a beautiful sight in Taylor's opinion. Not only because it meant his child was happy—a father's greatest dream—, but also for the resemblance he bore to his mother. Taylor could always see Ayani's features on Lucas's face (to a certain extent, anyway), but nothing made it as obvious as the smile. "You should smile like that more often."

"Oh, I smile _plenty_ often," Lucas claimed. "Just not when you're around 'cause…" His voice trailed off. The boy gazed aside as if he was lost in thought. "You know, it's strange," he said, sounding confused in spite of the fact he was anything but, "I never feel like smiling when we're together for some reason…"

Taylor narrowed his eyes, prompting Lucas to grin—not a happy grin, but a mocking one. The commander sighed. "Anyway…" He turned off the device and put it into his bag. "So now that we've finished our walk," he said, looking up at his son, "what do you think of the colony?"

Lucas took in a breath. "Well," he answered, "it's no Chicago."

Upon hearing that, Taylor furrowed his brows. "You're saying that like it's a bad thing." Lucas shrugged. "Oh, please!" the commander replied, frowning. "That place is filthy; this world is pristine. Don't tell me you'd rather live there."

"I'm not saying that," Lucas responded. "I'm just saying this place could use some work."

"Believe me, people are working hard on it every day."

Lucas did not find that hard to believe. If he were being honest with himself, the colony was bigger and built better than he had expected. For a place that had been founded mere five months earlier, he could see the beginning of a real town there. While impressive on the one hand (plus, he had to admit—the more advanced his new 'home,' the more comfortable his stay, however short), he was not glad there were such capable, industrious people.

"You know," Commander Taylor spoke up, "there is one more place I want to take you to. And when we're there, I promise you'll see how great the colony is."

"What place?"

Instead of answering, the corners of Taylor's lips turned upwards. "It's a surprise," he said.

Lucas blinked. The look on his father's face seemed rather sly. When he considered what a crazy place he had come to, the smile made Lucas feel a little nervous. "Seriously, where do you want to take me?" he asked again.

"Uh-uh. I'm not telling you," Taylor insisted. "You'll have to come with me and see for yourself."

Lucas sighed. "Fine," he said. "Can you at least tell me how long it's going to take?"

"Not more than an hour."

"An hour?" The boy thought about it for a moment, then said, "Okay, but I'm going to need to use the bathroom first."

Upon hearing that, Taylor's gaze narrowed. "You're not sick again, are you?" he said, looking his son up and down. After all, the last time Lucas had announced he needed to use said room, he had gone there to puke.

"No," Lucas assured him, "I just need to pee."

"Okay, then." Pleased to know that, Taylor nodded towards the house. "Go on."

Lucas opened the front door and headed for the bathroom at the back of the house. In the meantime, Taylor walked into the kitchen. He put his bag onto the counter, then poured himself a glass of water.

A minute later, Lucas returned—with his right arm over his left shoulder. He glared at his father, eyes angry enough to kill. "Oh, no," Taylor said when he took in what his son was doing. "Are you scratching again?"

"Yeah," Lucas confirmed, scowling.

"I thought it stopped itching." After all, Lucas had not scratched the whole time they were at his office. Nor while going around the colony. He had not even squirmed like he had while they had been watching the brachiosaurs.

"It _did_ stop," Lucas grumbled as he scratched his shoulder blade. "I don't know. I guess when I was sitting there, I was thinking about other things…" He switched his hands, but the attempt was as futile as all his previous ones. "Then you asked me if I was sick again, and it got me thinking about how I was sick before and how I had the leech and how itchy it was, and suddenly it started itching again. This is your fault!"

Taylor gave a shrug. "Well, just stop thinking about it again."

"I wish I could…" Lucas tried extending his arm as much as he could. His shoulder made a cracking sound, but he did not scratch his intended target.

"Your shoulder is cracking again."

"I can hear," Lucas all but snapped.

"Then stop scratching! You know you can't reach the spot, anyway." Lucas stopped, only to glare at his father, then resumed the desperate activity. His shoulder cracked once more. Taylor shook his head. "Lucas!" The son paused, looking at him. "Enough," Taylor said. "Listen, when I take you to the place I want to take you to, I'm sure you'll forget all about your itch."

The young man frowned as his attempts to scratch proved to remain unsuccessful. He let his arm drop. "I hope you're right."

"I know I am," Taylor said, sending the boy a little smile. Lucas began to walk towards the door, but Taylor stopped him. "Actually, you know what?" he spoke up. "I think I'm going to relieve myself, too." Lucas nodded, then proceeded to scratch himself again. Why he was still trying was beyond Taylor's comprehension; then again, Lucas had always been stubborn. Deciding not to comment on it further, Taylor reached for his bag. "Before I go…" The man took out the bottle of milk. When Lucas saw it, he could not help but groan. Taylor chuckled, then poured his son a glass and set it down onto the counter. "Enjoy." Finally, he went to the bathroom.

Before his father could walk in, Lucas spoke up, "Dad?"

"What?" the man asked, looking back at his son.

"This might be wrong, but… Do you think it could be the gauze?"

"The itching?" Taylor questioned.

"Yeah," Lucas replied, nodding. "I mean, I don't know what it's made of, but it's not the same as my shirt. Do you think it could be the fabric?"

"Well, I don't know, but…" Taylor shook his head. "I don't think so. It's probably just the wound healing."

"I don't know." Lucas sighed. He tried to scratch himself with his left hand again. "Could you take it off?"

"I don't know if that's—"

"Just in case," Lucas cut in. "It might not help, but maybe it will, you never know."

Taylor flattened his lips for a moment. "Did the doctor say how long you should have it there?" he asked.

"Well, she only put it there because it was still bleeding a little. I'm sure it's fine by now."

Taylor walked toward his son. "Let me see." Lucas turned around, lifting his shirt. There was a square of white gauze between the lower part of his shoulder blades, taped to his skin from top and bottom. The father took hold of the right edge of the upper tape and started peeling it off. Slowly, carefully, making sure not to disturb the bottom tape. Once the top was separated from Lucas's skin, he took a look at the wound underneath. He frowned. "You've got a pretty big scab there," he said.

"Is it bleeding?" Lucas asked.

"No, it doesn't seem to be anymore." After those words, he pulled off the bottom tape— _fast_. Lucas flinched. Given how gently his father had peeled of the top, he had not expected the sudden pain. Taylor heard Lucas let out a small gasp, and he could not help but chuckle at him. Lucas scowled. He pulled his shirt back down while Taylor threw the gauze in the trash. "Is the itching any better?" the man asked, looking up at his son.

Lucas shook his head. "No, it's not," he grumbled. He started to scratch himself once again. "It's itching like _crazy_!"

"I told you it wasn't the gauze," Taylor replied, shrugging.

Lucas sighed. He was anything but happy about his father being right. "Just go to the bathroom… or whatever it is you wanted to do."

Taylor turned around, walking towards the room in question. "And stop scratching already!" he ordered, looking at Lucas over his shoulder. "You know we agreed you'd only get two hours in my chair if you wouldn't scratch."

Lucas sighed again, but he lowered his hand, anyway. Taylor gave a nod, then went to the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind his father, Lucas began scratching his shoulder blade. The spot that itched, however, remained untouched.

He stopped a few seconds later. The boy shook his head. _'This is useless,'_ he thought, leaning against the kitchen counter. _'I'll never reach the spot on my own.'_ Suddenly, he got an idea. What if he did not reach it on his own? What if he had help? Not his father's help, of course; the man had made it clear he would leave Lucas to twist in the wind. But what if he had the help of an _instrument_? If he could not reach it on his own, perhaps he could find something around—a long, sharp object, preferably—to scratch himself with.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

Commander Taylor walked out of the bathroom, only to hear Lucas utter a bathroom-related word. " _Sheet_ ," Lucas said under his breath while staring at his right hand.

"Hey!" Lucas nearly flinched as he looked up at him. He lowered his hand, shielding it from Taylor's view behind the counter. "Watch your tongue!" the father said.

"Sorry," Lucas apologized.

Taylor went closer to the boy, eying him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Lucas quickly replied. "Doesn't matter. Would you excuse me for just a second?" Sending his father a polite smile, he started to walk towards the bathroom.

The commander furrowed his brows. "Where are you going?"

"I need to pee," Lucas claimed, not stopping in his tracks.

Taylor blinked. "You did that five minutes ago," he said.

Lucas had reached the door by then. He opened it but did not walk in. Instead, he looked at his father and told him, "Yes, but then I drank the glass of milk, so now I have to go again."

Lucas stepped into the small room while Taylor looked at the counter. The glass was standing at the same spot as before—and what more than that, not a single drop of milk was missing. "But the glass is still full."

"No, it's not," Lucas called out from the bathroom, then closed the door.

Taylor looked at the glass once again. Unless he had gone mad and his eyes were deceiving him, it was full to the brim. He looked at the bathroom door, then back at the glass and back at the door. One thing he was sure of: Lucas had not gone to pee. He went over there. Not bothering to knock, he opened the door. He found Lucas crouching in front of the sink. The doors of the cabinet underneath it were open; he must have been searching it. However, as soon as he heard the bathroom door open, Lucas's eyes shot up to his father. The youth scowled. "Excuse me!" he said. "Can't I get some privacy? This is the _bathroom_."

As he looked at him, Taylor noticed something concerning on Lucas's hand—blood. A small amount of it, to be fair, but even that was more than there should have been. "What happened to your hand?" He bended over and tried to take hold of it to have a closer look, but the boy pulled away. "What—"

"Okay, just," he cut in, looking up at his father, "just promise you won't get mad."

Taylor furrowed his brows. If his son was asking him not to get mad, that probably meant he would, in fact, get mad. However, he could see in Lucas's eyes (the kid was staring hard at him—why was he not blinking again?) that he would not get an answer unless he complied. "I promise."

Lucas studied his father's face. He knew the man had broken similar promises in the past. Then again, he seemed to be in a good mood that day; perhaps he would not be angry. Lucas blinked and heaved a sigh. "My hand's fine. I wiped that off my back," he admitted. He got up from his crouch, getting on the same level as the commander. "I think I may have— _accidentally_ , mind you…" Lucas paused for two seconds. Taylor raised his eyebrows, already suspecting how the sentence would end. "…scratched off the scab."

"What?" Taylor replied, even though Lucas had said exactly what he had expected.

"I don't know. I can't see it, but—"

"Let me see." Taylor went behind Lucas and lifted his shirt up. Sure enough, red was trickling down from the spot where the leech had bitten him.

Lucas tried turning his head back, but he did not manage to see the condition of the scab. "Is it off?"

"Mostly," the old man confirmed. "It's hanging there by one edge, but it's not covering the wound."

"Damn," Lucas muttered while Taylor let go of the shirt. The boy crouched again, looking into the open cabinet."Hey, where is the healing spray?" he asked. "Do we not have it?"

"Top shelf, in the back, but…" Taylor took in a breath. "Son, I think you might better go back to the infirmary."

"What?" Lucas glanced up at him, then shook his head. He looked back into the cabinet. "No. Come on, it's not that bad, is it?"

"Well, I don't know how deep the leech bit you, but didn't you say the doctor rubbed some ointment on the wound to help it heal?"

"So?"

"Don't you think you might need the ointment again since you re-opened the wound? If the spray had been enough, she could have just sprayed it in the first place," Taylor said.

"I'm sure the spray is enough. Ah, here," Lucas said as he found what he was looking for. He took out a small, gray bottle of medical spray. He stood up straight and held it out to his father. "Can you spray it?"

"No."

"Dad—"

"But I can take you to the infirmary."

He did _not_ want to go back there. Especially not with his father. The doctor would surely lecture him for scratching the wound. Then his father would find out he had lied about scratching being allowed. And then his father would scold him, too. He was hoping to avoid all that. Lucas shook his head. "I _really_ don't think it's necessary."

"Well, I really…" Taylor paused. "Actually, I don't know if it's necessary, but I'm not taking any chances." He snatched the spray from Lucas's hand and placed it onto the sink's edge. "We're going." After those words, he headed out of the bathroom and to the front door.

Lucas took in a deep breath. His eyes traveled up towards the ceiling as he mentally asked higher powers he did not believe in for mercy. Afterwards, he followed his father.

Taylor was already at the door, but when he reached for the handle, he stopped. He turned around and looked back at Lucas, his eyes as narrow as his mind (at least where his son was concerned, or so Lucas thought). "How did this happen, anyway?" the man asked. "I thought you couldn't reach the spot."

"I couldn't," Lucas replied. "Not with my hands, anyway…"

"Oh. What did you scratch with?"

Lucas shrugged. "Just… something I found nearby."

It was at that moment that Taylor's eyes landed on the kitchen counter Lucas was standing next to. The answer was lying right there in plain sight. Taylor's narrow eyes suddenly widened. "A knife?" he questioned incredulously. Lucas shrugged again. "Are you kidding me? You scratched a scab on your back with a _knife_? Of course you scratched it off! What were you thinking?!"

Lucas frowned. He had known his father's promise not to get angry would be broken. "I wasn't thinking. I was _itching_ ," he grumbled.

Taylor shook his head, then opened the door. "Come on, you genius," he said and proceeded to walk out.

Lucas stayed behind for a moment, fuming. His frown turned into a scowl. 'Genius.' Good god, he hated it when his father used that word ironically! He went after his father, but he slammed the front door shut when he left the house. Taylor did not seem to notice that.

After a few seconds, Lucas caught up to the old man. Together, they walked in the direction of the infirmary. Once again, Commander Taylor shook his head. "I told you to stop scratching," he muttered. "I told you, but you just wouldn't listen…"

The son sighed. "In my defense," he spoke up, "the wound's not itching anymore, so, you know… At least it worked. That's a good thing, right?" Taylor sent him a glare. "Okay, I'll shut up now," Lucas concluded, looking away.

He walked the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived in front of the building that was the infirmary, Taylor held the door open for him. He took in a deep breath, then stepped inside.

Oh, he really hoped the doctor would not scold him…

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

"Come on, I told you not to scratch the wound."

Damn it! The doctor's tone sounded awfully similar to the one his father would use when admonishing him. Lucas frowned.

When Taylor heard what she said, Lucas's 'I'm sure it's fine' came back to mind. The father gave his son a look.

Lucas shrugged. "I forgot." Taylor shook his head, seeing through the lie.

The doctor sighed, then said she was going to get more ointment.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

"There we go," the doctor said after cleaning the blood and applying the ointment. "But no scratching this time, all right? Just leave it be for the day. It'll stop itching in a few hours. Okay?"

"O-kay," Lucas uttered. What, did she think he was an idiot? That he had not learned his lesson? That he was too weak to control himself? He barely knew her (he did not even remember her name, in spite of the fact she had introduced herself to them when they had first arrived), but he already disliked her.

She stepped over to a nearby table, where she took some tape and a piece of gauze. As she was about to cover the wound, Commander Taylor stopped her. "Actually, you know what?" he spoke up. "I was thinking, do you have anything around here that could help relieve the itching? Another ointment or something?"

Lucas's eyes snapped to his father.

"I can take a loo—"

"I don't need another ointment," Lucas interrupted her, glaring at his father. What, did great Commander think he was weak, too? Of course he did. In fact, he had held that opinion for as long as Lucas could remember. It gleamed in his eyes whenever he looked at his son.

"If you didn't need it," Taylor told him, "we wouldn't be here right now."

And there he had it. The look was confirmed by his words (not that it was necessary). Lucas scowled. "That's not true!" he argued, telling it to himself as much as he was telling it to his father.

The doctor looked at him, then at Taylor. Taking a step forward, she said, "I will go—"

"Hang on!" Lucas stopped her. "I don't want any ointment or anything else for the itching. I can handle it."

Taylor eyed him, clearly not of the same belief. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive."

In spite of Lucas's wish, the doctor still looked at Taylor to see if she should go get something for the itching or not. Apparently, it did not matter to her that he was an adult, that he was in charge of himself. In the doctor's eyes, the great, greatest Commander Taylor ruled everyone. He _really_ disliked her.

Taylor just shrugged when she looked at him, and so she proceeded to tape the square of white to his back. Before letting him go, she reminded him one more time not to scratch the wound. Lucas bit his lip. Hard. His nostril flared a bit, but he did not say anything in response. A part of him wanted to snap at her; however, he figured it would be best not to make enemies just yet. (Sure, he had to consider everyone there an enemy, but he did not want to be considered an enemy himself. He had to keep up appearances until he finished his job.) Instead, he decided to leave. He quickly put on his shirt, practically jumped off the bed and headed straight for the main exit without bothering to say goodbye.

Taylor followed him, wondering why it was that Lucas was walking so quickly.

Once they were outside the building, Taylor spoke up, "So are you ready for our trip?"

Lucas groaned.

"Well, gee, don't be too excited."

"Do we have to go _now_?" Lucas asked. "It's been a _long_ day."

Taylor furrowed his brows. "It's only afternoon. And you slept for almost twelve hours last night," he said. "Are you all right?"

Lucas sighed. "I'm fine," he lied.

"You don't look fine."

 _'Oh, what do you know?'_ Lucas thought in annoyance. Since when did his father not fall for the 'I'm fine' reassurance? True, he had not said it very convincingly, but he had not thought it would be necessary.

"What's going on, son?" Taylor asked.

Lucas shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing. Don't worry about it," he replied. Taylor raised his eyebrows, tilting his head a little. Lucas stuck his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight on his feet. "Look," he said, briefly glancing at the ground, "I'm… not in the best mood right now."

"Is the wound itching again?"

"Not yet." Thank god.

"Then why are you in a bad mood?"

"I don't know. I just…" Lucas took in a breath, glancing away again. "Sometimes moods just happen, you know?"

Taylor heaved a sigh, then decided not to question his son any further. He suspected the mood was not random (although he was not sure of its cause), but if Lucas wanted to keep it to himself, he would not force him to do otherwise. "Well, trust me," the father said, "the place I want to take you to will make your mood a lot better. It's impossible to be in a bad mood there."

 _'I don't think a place like that exists…'_ "Let's go, then," Lucas said, forcing a smile. Taylor returned it with one that seemed a lot more genuine. After giving a nod, the commander started walking. Lucas followed him. "So where is it we're going?" the boy inquired.

"First, we're going for a car," Taylor said. "We're going to drive there."

Drive? Was the place in the jungle? That did not seem safe. Then again, his father probably knew better if it was safe or not. Unless his father was taking him there to kill him… Geez, why did that thought occur to him again? Mentally shrugging it off, Lucas spoke up, "And we'll be back in about an hour, right?"

"Yeah, probably," Taylor confirmed.

Lucas gave a nod. "Can I get the second hour in your chair as soon as we come back?" he asked. He was not sure why, but sitting behind the dino-desk had felt empowering. He figured he needed that.

"Oh, you're not getting the second hour," Taylor said—rather nonchalantly, Lucas was disappointed to note.

As soon as he heard what his father said, Lucas stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

Taylor came to a halt as well. He looked at his son and sighed. "I'm sorry, but that was meant to be a reward. You didn't earn it."

Lucas glared at him, but when Taylor returned the stare, his gaze softened. "But you promised," the boy all but whined.

"The agreement was you'd only get two hours if you stopped scratching," Taylor countered. "Which you clearly didn't do."

"But I—"

"Commander!" a familiar male voice interrupted their conversation. Upon turning his head in its direction, Lucas found Lieutenant Guzman rushing to them.

Commander Taylor took a few steps toward him. "Guz, what is it?" he asked.

When Guzman reached him, he explained the situation to Taylor. Lucas did not catch the whole conversation (partly because they were not standing right next to him and were using more-or-less quiet voices, partly because he just did not care enough to listen and so let his mind wander), but he overheard a mention of Washington and the barracks. Based on the little information he had, Lucas guessed his father would need to leave.

After a minute, Taylor and Guzman exchanged nods. While the latter began walking away, the former came back to Lucas. "I knew I would get called away again," Taylor said, more to himself than to Lucas.

It appeared Lucas's guess had been correct.

"Listen, I have to go now, but I'll be back within half an hour. We're going to go as soon as I come for you, okay?"

Lucas shrugged. "I guess…"

"Go back to the house and wait for me there. This won't take long, I promise."

Ah, another promise Lucas was sure would be broken.

He did not mind, though. In fact, he was glad to have some time away from his father. He needed a break from the old man's presence. After he gave his father a nod, the commander left, and Lucas went back to his new house.

* * *

Author's note

"He did not think he would survive five years among dinosaurs." Oh, my poor baby, you have no idea what's ahead of you… I feel bad for him. But hehehe, Lucas is a very good liar, isn't he? What with the whole "I have to pee again because I drank a glass of milk even though it's still full." :D

Also, I deleted a bit from this chapter: during their walk through the colony, after Lucas said: "Can I ask you a question?" I originally had Taylor respond with: "Well, asking me if you can ask is a question, so I think the answer is yes. Apparently, you can." And Lucas was frustrated by that because he was tired of his father's lame dad-jokes. I deleted this part because I felt like it didn't quite suit the mood I was going for in that scene, but something like this totally happened at some point. Probably at multiple points. FYI what gave me the idea for this was a deleted scene from the pilot where Skye said to Taylor: "Can I ask… Why are you so interested in the Shannons?" and Taylor replied: "You can ask." and then he didn't say anything else. :D So now I have a headcanon that occasionally Taylor likes to make stupid jokes like those and Lucas absolutely hates them. :D


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Lucas arrived to the house, his back had started to itch. This time, though, he made no attempts to scratch himself. He did not want to repeat his mistake and cut off the scab again. One time was bad enough.

He closed the door behind him and looked around. He was not sure how long it would take before his father would return for him, and he was not sure what to do in the meantime. He was tired, but he did not want to risk turning a nap into a full night's sleep (or, more precisely, afternoon and night's sleep). He was thirsty, too, and hungry, but he did not want to drink that _disgusting_ milk.

…Then again, his father was not there to see him. He could eat and drink something else. The commander would never find out.

…Although he had already thrown up once that day. He did not want to make himself sick again. The milk (designed specifically for easier transition) would be a safer choice.

…But he _really_ did not want the milk…

Lucas's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 _Pathetic_! He was pathetic and weak, and he hated it. _Hated_!

Ugh! That taste was _strong_.

Not the taste of the milk. He had refused to drink any more of that. Not because of its taste—which, admittedly, was awful. No, he had a different reason for not wanting it.

The reason was that he hated the milk. _Hated_ it! After all, the _great, great commander_ had not needed it when he had gone through the portal, had he? Commander had eaten normal food and whatnot since his first day in Terra Nova. And he seemed to have turned out just fine. If the commander had not required that sort of special treatment, why should Lucas need it? Why should he not be able to handle the same thing his father had handled with ease?

No, if Taylor had not drunk the milk, he would not drink it, either. It was not that he wanted to be like his father—he didn't. He just did not want to be _weaker_ than him. He was not weaker, was he? Sure, he would probably not beat his father (a trained military man) in a fist‑fight, but his willpower and endurance? Just as strong as his father's. Maybe even stronger. Probably. Hopefully. He was _not_ weaker than his father. Taylor thought he was, but he wasn't. And he would prove it. That was why he had come to Terra Nova in the first place. To prove he could beat his father. To prove he was not as worthless and useless and incompetent as his father thought. He could handle whatever the commander could. Right?

 _Wrong_. If he had been able to handle it, he would not have thrown up earlier. And he would not have scratched off the scab. And he would not have been so tired. And he would not have felt like crying.

Pathetic. _Weak_ …

Damn it, he had not come there to feel weak! He had come for the opposite: to _finally_ feel _strong_. Instead, he had discovered that he was among the weakest people in Terra Nova. A minority of a minority. The weakest of the weak.

The word 'weak' was starting to sound funny in his head. He chuckled, then leaned against the backrest of the couch he was sitting on.

Well, at least he couldn't get more pathetic than he already was—provided he would not _actually_ start crying. He had to keep that in. He hadn't cried in, like… he didn't even know. However long it had been, he did not want to break that streak. Besides, his father was bound to return soon. To hell with the streak, but he would _not_ let his father see him cry. Especially not on their first day back together.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Commander Taylor stepped into the house.

"Oh, not now," Lucas whined. He laid his upper body down on the couch and shut his eyes.

"Well, I'm happy to see you again, too," Taylor replied, closing the door behind him. Lucas groaned, covering his eyes with his arm. Taylor ignored his son's apparent displeasure. "You ready to go?" he asked, walking closer to him.

"No," Lucas grumbled.

Upon hearing such a response, Taylor stopped in his tracks. "No?"

"I'm not going," Lucas mumbled.

Taylor blinked. "And why not?"

Lucas took in a long breath through his nose, then said, "Don't feel like it."

 _'Damn, is he sick again?'_ Taylor wondered as he studied the boy. He went over to the couch and asked, "Is something wrong?"

Lucas yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. Taylor frowned at that, but he kept quiet. "Everything," the son uttered, more to himself than to his father. "This place."

"Hey, what is this?"

Lucas lowered his arm and opened his eyes to find his father picking up a bottle from the coffee table. "Oh, _here we go_! Now you're gonna get mad," Lucas muttered as he sat up, slurring his words a bit. "So how do you want to play this, huh? 'That's just my milk, Dad.' 'This ain't no milk, kid.' 'Yeah, it is.' 'No, it's not.'"

"What are you doing?" Taylor asked, confused.

Lucas ignored him and went on, his slurring as well as volume progressively rising, "'I _only_ had milk, I swear.' 'You think I'm gonna fall for that?' 'All right, fine! I admit—I had a few grapes, too.' 'Oh, in their liquid form?' 'Maybe!'"

"What—"

"'Honestly, Dad, I don't even know if it's grapes. Tastes terrible! And not, like, any good, likable kind of terrible. Straight up awful!' 'Well, then why you drinking it, you idiot?' 'I dunno, I like it.' 'You _just_ said it's not likable!' 'Yeah, but…' 'But what?' 'I don't know! Leave me alone!' 'You don't even know what you saying, you drunk fool!'"

"'Drunk'?!" Taylor all but yelled. "You're drunk?!"

Lucas gave his father a look as though the man had said something utterly stupid and ridiculous. "Am not!" Taylor raised his eyebrows, and Lucas's gaze softened. "Maybe _little_ tipsy," he admitted.

"What…" Taylor looked down at the bottle in his hand. It was not a glass bottle, he could not see the liquid inside. He opened it and took a sniff from its neck. When its scent hit his nose, he could not help but grimace. "What the hell?! You've been drinking _this_?!"

And there they went. His father was mad and had _that_ look on his face. Good god, he hated that look! As if Taylor never did anything wrong himself. As if he was perfect all the time and Lucas never was. "Oh, gimme a…" Lucas leaned against the backrest, closing his eyes so he would not have to look into Taylor's.

"Are you kidding me?" Taylor said as he put the bottle down. "Why-why would you do this today? Look, any other day, I wouldn't have a problem with this—"

Lucas snorted at that. "Yeah, _right_!"

"Hey, in moderation, I'd be fine with it," Taylor claimed. "But today? It's your first day here! Well, your first full day. Our first day back together. Is this how you want to spend it? Come on!" Shaking his head, he put the bottle back down. "Besides," he spoke up again, "you knew I wanted to take you on a trip."

"I can still go," Lucas told him, looking up at him. "I mean, I don't wanna, but I _can_. Can do anything."

Taylor frowned. "Well, I'm not taking you there like this."

"I can do _anything_ ," the boy insisted with slightly slurred words.

"Where did you even get this?" Taylor asked as he pointed at the bottle. Before Lucas could answer, the man started shaking his head again, muttering, "Today of all days, come on…"

Lucas stared at his father for a moment. That annoying sad, disappointed look was on his face again. Or maybe _still_ , he was not sure anymore. Lucas clenched his jaw, heat rising from his chest into his head. Taylor did not seem to notice as he continued to mutter. Lucas took a deep breath to steady himself, then shrugged. "What's the big deal?" he asked. "It's the perfect ending for today, isn't it?"

"Ending?" Taylor furrowed his brows. "It's only four o'clock! Or is it five now?" He glanced away for a moment, then shook his head. "Doesn't matter, it's still early! Why would you do this today?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Lucas mumbled, leaning his head back. "Just trying to make bad day a little nicer."

"No," Taylor replied, "it was a nice day already. If anything, you're trying to ruin it with this."

"Wha—" Upon hearing his father's words, Lucas's eyes snapped toward him. "ME?!" The youth all but jumped up from the couch, swaying for a moment before he found balance.

"You—"

" _I'm_ ruining it?!" he shouted as he pointed at himself, practically poking his own chest. Afterwards, he threw his arms up in the air. "Okay, that… That's the _last_ straw, I **swear**!" Lucas yelled. " _I_ didn't ruin this day! This _day_ ruined ME!"

"You stop yelling at me!" the commander ordered, raising one finger as he sent the boy a glare. Lucas scowled back at him but quieted. "Why are you angry all of a sudden?" Taylor asked.

"All of a sudden? I'm not angry all of a sudden. I'm angry _all the time_!" And in that moment, he had just enough alcohol in his body to no longer care to keep that in.

"Why?" the father inquired, confused by his son's behavior.

"Why? _Why_?! 'Cause…" Lucas paused, looking around himself, gesturing wildly, yet not finding the words. "…This place!" he said after a moment.

Taylor furrowed his brows. "What, do you not like it here?"

At that, Lucas clapped. "Oh, finally! _Fi-nal-ly_!" he said, clapping with each syllable.

"What—"

"I been waiting for this moment for _eighteen_ years, and it's _finally_ here! You're not blind anymore!" Lucas gave a laugh, which turned into a whine as he slapped his hands to his face.

"Wait, you _actually_ don't like this place?"

"No!" Lucas cried, lowering his hands. He looked at his father as if he thought Taylor was the crazy one. "Why the hell would I?"

"Why _wouldn't_ you?" Taylor countered. "It's not like you're stuck alone in the jungle like I was. You've got everything you need here. A nice house, clean environment—"

"Yeah!" Lucas snorted. "So clean, makes me wanna hurl."

Taylor's eyes narrowed. "Is that why you don't like it here? Because you threw up a little earlier? I mean, I know that couldn't feel good, but was it really _that_ bad?"

"You wanna know why? You wanna know why I don't like it here? You wanna know why?" Lucas spoke so quickly Taylor barely understood him.

"Yes."

"'Cause everythin'!" Lucas said, throwing his arms up again. "I mean… I step out the portal, BAM! I'm _sick_! Next day I _throw_ up, and then I had this-this _giant_ , _itchy_ leech _bite_ me an‑and suck out my _blood_! Which is, like, _super_ weird. And I know I said it didn't hurt, but you know what? It _did_! I mean, like, I could handle it, y'know, I can handle anything, but… but it _hurt_!"

"I don't—"

"And I _swear_ , it's like _everything_ here is something that feels bad, you know? I gotta get used to _everything_."

"It's not all—"

"An-and what about food, huh?" Lucas continued, not letting Taylor speak.

"—bad. You're—"

" _Everything_ , food, milk, damn _water_ tastes bad. Stings like… _weird_."

"Lucas—"

"And _you_!" the young man said, giving his father a glare. "Well, is not like you been making this any _easier_ for me! Like, I say I don't wanna chat 'cause, 'cause my head is just _killing_ me—"

"You didn't say—"

"—and you keep _babbling_! And then I say I'm not hungry, and you don't _care_! You don't care what I want! You're like, 'I'm gonna pour this milk down your _throat_! Against your _will_! 'Cause I don't give a _damn_ about your will! I'm a god, and you're _nothing_!' For god's sake, Dad!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic! I wouldn't have actually poured it down your throat," Taylor defended himself.

"Well, it didn't seem like that!" the boy argued. "I mean, I was sick as it was, and you were just _trying_ to make it worse! Like, on _purpose_!"

"I didn't—"

"And you thought I was afraid of the leech. Which I _wasn't_. I just didn't— _Oh_ , and then you refused to scratch me! And let me tell you something: that-that was no mosquito bite. That was itching like a _crazy_ son of a bitch! Like, I was…" Lucas paused for a moment. "Wha‑what's the word?"

"I don't know," Taylor said, clueless as to what his son was trying to tell him.

After two more seconds, Lucas waved it off. "Whatever! Point is: I could've handled it."

"What? The itching?"

"The nau— the… being sick!" Lucas explained. "'Cause I really— I can handle anything, y'know? I'm not weak! I get migraines sometimes. Mom used to get them. It's her— um, here… _ditary_. And that's not my fault!"

"What are you—"

"And I can handle itching, too," the youth claimed. "You think I couldn't stop scratching? I could stop _whenever_! I just didn't wanna."

"You mean… when you scratched off the scab?"

"Yeah."

"Why wouldn't you have wanted to stop?"

"Well, I wasn't scratching when you were watching, was I? Didn't have to scratch it off. Could've handled it just fine."

"But you—"

"That was _your_ fault," Lucas claimed, pouting like a petulant child.

" _My_ fault? That _you_ scratched off the scab?"

"Yup."

"How was that _my_ fault?"

"'Cause I asked ya to scratch me, and you _wouldn't_!" Lucas responded, further fueling Taylor's impression that Lucas was a baby.

"Yeah, because—"

"You could've scratched me, and you could've been all careful an-and gentle… But _no_! You wouldn't help me! Had to do it myself! And I couldn't even see it! _You_ could! And then in the infir— infirmary, you're like, 'Oh, oh, get him an— get him an ointment 'cause… 'cause he's a little _wimp_.' And I'm _not_ a little—"

"I didn't say that!"

"Well, you could've!" Lucas replied as if that proved his point. "Oh, and what about this _colony_ of yours, huh? _So_ safe in here! With all these _birds_ and these, like, _giant_ dinosaurs. Like those bra-brachio-whatever—"

"Brachiosau—"

" _Whatever_!" Lucas cut in. "I know, these might not eat people, but there-there gotta be some _big‑ass_ people-eaters out there. Like that thing we saw yesterday? That was _huge_! That could kill people."

When Taylor heard his son say that, he couldn't help feeling glad he had not yet shown Lucas the memorial field beyond the colony's fences. One less complaint from the boy, at least for the time being. "Yes, but—"

"And you're asking me _why_ I hate this place? Why _the hell_ do you think?! 'Cause everythingabout it _sucks_ , Dad. _Everything_!" Afterwards, Lucas finally fell quiet. He sat back down on the couch, huffing and scowling but not saying anything. He just stared at the floor while his father struggled to find his own voice.

Taylor sighed. He did not want to yell at Lucas. Or smack him. Not even scold him for raising his voice at his father. While Lucas was clearly angry, Taylor felt none of it at that moment. He almost wanted to, but he did not. Hearing his own son talk about Terra Nova—the place he had been working and fighting so hard for—with such disdain… It had not angered him. It had _hurt_ him. "Look," Taylor spoke up, keeping his voice low and soft, "I'm sorry if your new home is—"

"'Home'?!" Lucas yelled up again, albeit less loudly than before. Taylor raised his hands to quiet him, but the young man went on, "This ain't my _home_. It _can't_ be. Chicago is my home, and I don't even like it there! I mean, I did first, but then _you_ were there and I didn't… I didn't have, uh…" Lucas paused, staring into space as though he was trying to remember something. Taylor waited for him to finish, but, in the end, all Lucas said was: "Huh. I totally forgot where I was going with that. Go figure!" He chuckled.

The father stepped closer to him. "Lucas," he tried again, "I'm sorry if _this place_ is not living up to your, uh, expectations—"

"Oh, _au contraire_!" Lucas interrupted again. "It's living up to _all_ of 'em."

Taylor blinked. "Are you saying you expected to hate it here?"

"Yeah," Lucas confirmed. "I knew it would suck. And I was right!"

"Huh…" The commander sat down next to Lucas, prompting the boy to move closer to the couch's edge. Taylor frowned upon seeing that but did not comment on it. Instead, he pondered his son's words. If Lucas had honestly believed that… Could that have been merely a self‑fulfilling prophecy? Not a testament of Terra Nova's poor condition? "Well," he spoke up slowly, "isn't it possible that maybe the reason you hate it here now is because you expected to?" Lucas furrowed his brows. "You know, because you thought you'd hate it, so now you're just looking for things to prove you right… maybe?"

"Maybe…" Lucas gazed at the floor, blinking a few times. "Honestly, my mind is a little bit cloudy right now, but that… that does sound pl— p‑possible." Lucas sighed, closing his eyes. After a couple of seconds, he looked up at his father. His eyes seemed softer then; the anger in them was gone. "Dad," he said with a low voice, barely above a whisper, "I gotta tell you something."

"What?"

Lucas opened his mouth, then quickly closed it and shook his head. "No."

"What is it?"

"Can't tell ya."

"Why not?"

"You'd get mad at me. Or you'd think I'm… think I'm…"

"What?"

" _Weak_ ," Lucas whispered so quietly Taylor nearly did not hear. "And I'm _not_."

"Lucas," Taylor said, "just tell me."

"Fine, but…" The boy's eyes had softened to a puppy-like degree. "No judging. Promise?"

"I promise," Taylor said. "No judging."

Lucas leaned closer to Taylor. Afterwards, he whispered in a tone which his father found rather whiny, " _I'm tired_."

"Tired?"

Lucas pulled away. "I'm so tired I could cry," Lucas claimed as knitted his brows. "I know I slept for, like, twelve hours last night, but I was really sick, and now my head is still hurting a little. I mean, it's not as bad as in the morning, but it still hurts a little, and I… I just…" He let out a sound resembling a sob, then whined, "I wanna sleep."

Taylor sighed. While there had clearly been other reasons as well, tiredness and a headache might have played a part in Lucas's crankiness. He figured it would be better to grant Lucas his wish than to let things escalate even further. "Well, then go to bed."

"That's a very good idea," Lucas said as if that had not occurred to him before. The commander blinked. "Thank you," the son said, placing one hand on Taylor's shoulder.

"You're welcome," was all Taylor could say.

The drunken young man kept his hand on his father's shoulder as he stood up, using it to support himself and avoid losing balance. Once he was steady on his feet, he went (with small, careful steps) to his new bedroom.

* * *

Author's note

Hello again and thanks for reading another chapter of my story. There is only one more chapter left before it ends, so if you have made it this far and are still enjoying the story, make sure to come back next time for the last piece of _The Second It Began_. To be honest, before I started writing _TSIB_ , I thought it would be, like, three times shorter than it ended up being. But then I kept adding more and more dialogue and more and more scenes and this is the result.

Also, I noticed that, according to the traffic stats, someone from Slovakia has read all my chapters so far. If that's you and you are reading this: Ahoj, sousede! :D


	10. Chapter 10

_'I am thy father's spirit,  
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,  
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,  
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature  
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid  
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,  
I could a tale unfold whose—'_

"Hey, whatcha doing?"

Lucas looked up from his plex to find his father standing in the doorway of his bedroom. "How'd you know I was awake?"

"The light from your plex. I could see it through the door."

"Damn translucent door!" Lucas muttered. He had known that door would be trouble. Scowling, he put his plex down in front of him. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in the same clothes as before, having not changed before his nap. "I guess I can turn this on, then." He reached towards the lamp on his right. After one tap to its top, the dark room was illuminated.

Taylor took a single step forward. "So, uh," he spoke up carefully, "are you still feeling… drunk?"

"Barely," Lucas replied. "Just feeling warm now. And thirsty."

"I can get you some water," Taylor said. Before Lucas could respond, he went off to the kitchen. Lucas furrowed his brows. Less than a minute later, the old man returned with a glass of cold, clear water, which he promptly handed to his son. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Lucas said as he took the glass—then, instead of drinking, he stared at his father with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Taylor inquired when he noticed his son's gaze.

"Nothing." Lucas shook his head, then drank over a half of the glass in one draft. "Damn," he muttered, putting the glass on his right nightstand, "it still tastes weird."

"Just give it a day or two. You'll like it then."

Taylor sat down at the foot of the bed. Lucas frowned. And there he had been hoping to finish reading in peace… "How come you haven't gone to bed yet?" he tried, hoping his father would do just that. "I mean, it's really late. And I'm sure you have to get up early in the morning…"

"Yeah, I was just going to bed when I saw you're awake," Taylor said. To Lucas's disappointment, he did not take the bait and continued sitting there. "Already brushed my teeth and took a shower and everything."

"Yeah, I heard," Lucas uttered to himself. He was, however, not referring to the sound of running water, but to a rather annoying sound of off-key singing.

"How's your head, by the way? Any better?" Taylor asked.

The youth nodded. "It's fine now, doesn't hurt."

"Oh, good," Taylor said. "That's, that's good. And are you…" He hesitated, unsure if it would be a good idea to bring the topic up. "Are you still, um…"

"Drunk?" Lucas cut in when Taylor paused again. "You already asked me. Are _you_ drunk?"

Taylor smiled, then said, "I meant 'grumpy.'"

"Oh." The youth glanced down at his feet for a moment, taking in a long breath. A part of him wanted to say it would be a real miracle if he were not; after all, he had been grumpy for nearly five years by then. Nevertheless, he decided not to tell his father that. He looked back up at the man and shrugged. "I don't know," he claimed. "A little bit."

Taylor gave a nod. His eyes traveled down to the plex Lucas had put on the bed. "So what are you doing?" he asked, turning the device around so he could see what the screen said.

"Just reading," Lucas replied. When he saw his father starting to read the text, he clarified, "That's _Hamlet_." Taylor looked up at him. "From Shakespeare."

"Haven't you read that before?"

"A few times." Taylor raised his eyebrows at that, and Lucas shrugged. "What? It's the best story ever written."

"Is it?"

"Of course!" Lucas told him. "It's got everything a good story should have: drama, revenge, dead fathers…"

Taylor smacked Lucas's knee, prompting the boy to laugh. Taylor pretended to pout. "That's not a good story," he claimed. "That's a _bad_ story. A very bad story."

"To each his own," Lucas said, smirking.

Taylor shook his head, yet he could not help smiling himself. "Well, looks like you're not so grumpy after all if you're in the mood to tease me." He gave his son a light, playful push, making Lucas chuckle again. Afterwards, Taylor's eyes went back to the plex. "That doesn't look like the first page," he remarked.

"It's not."

"How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know," Lucas claimed. "An hour or so."

"An hour?"

"Or so."

"Then why didn't you come out and tell me?"

His father was staring at him as though he was hurt by that. Lucas frowned. "Why, because if I had told you, you would have known," he replied, giving Taylor his best duh‑look. "Can't I get a moment alone?"

"Haven't you had enough of that?" his father questioned. "We've barely seen each other in the past two years."

"Hey, today alone we've spent a good couple hours together. We haven't spent that much time together in… _ever_."

Taylor nodded, sucking in his lips for a second. "Well, maybe we should work on changing that."

Lucas snorted. "Why? Just so we could fight again? Haven't you had enough of _that_?" he bit. When Taylor sent him a glare, he glanced down and shifted his position. "Sorry."

"You know, we don't have to fight. …if you're willing," Taylor told him. "I know I am. Speaking of which…"

Instead of finishing that thought, Taylor stood up. "What are you doing?" Lucas asked.

"I want to give you something."

"A slap?" Lucas half-joked, hoping to hear a negative answer.

Fortunately for Lucas, his wish was fulfilled. "No, silly," the commander replied. "Just hang on, I'll be back in a sec." After those words, he walked out of the room.

Lucas heard him going to the kitchen, followed by the sound of the refrigerator opening. While waiting, Lucas took his plex and turned its screen off. He had the feeling it would take a while before he would get to finish his reading; there was no use wasting the battery. Once he put the plex onto the nightstand on his left, Commander Taylor returned.

"Here you go," the father said, holding out his hand.

Upon seeing what it was his father was giving him, Lucas raised his brows. "A grape?" A single piece of the round, red fruit was lying on Taylor's palm. After telling him he was only allowed to drink that milk, after slapping his hand away when he had reached for his father's grapes, the man was giving him one. He had not expected that.

"Well, you said you liked them at breakfast," Taylor said.

The youth looked up at his father, meeting his eyes. "I thought you didn't want me to eat these."

"Consider it a peace offering."

When he heard that, Lucas could not help but smile. He tried to keep a straight face, but, somehow, against his will, the corners of his lips turned upwards. It was a nice gesture, he thought. The only problem was that his father was not supposed to make nice gestures. His father was supposed to be cold and ignorant and full of himself and critical and—

"Are you going to take it?" Taylor's voice interrupted Lucas's musing.

He did not want to take a peace offering from his father. However, he had to keep up appearances if he wanted to succeed in taking Terra Nova down. Plus, he wanted to eat the grape. Taking in a breath, Lucas reached for it. He took the piece of fruit and put it in his mouth. While Taylor grinned and sat down again, Lucas's own smile vanished into a grimace. "This is disgusting," the boy mumbled before swallowing. "I love it."

"Finally something you don't hate!"

Both of them chuckled when his father said that, then the room turned silent. After a couple of seconds, Lucas spoke up, "Look, about what happened earlier…" He paused, trying to find the right words. He was sick of apologizing, sick of everything being his fault, but he felt as if he had no choice. After all, while he had not meant to pretend he thought of Terra Nova as paradise, he had not meant to be hostile, either. _'Not yet, anyway,'_ he thought to himself. "I'm sorry that I, uh… freaked out a little bit. I didn't mean to do that. Well, I did _kind of_ mean to do it while I was doing it, but…" Taylor furrowed his brows at that. Lucas continued, "It's just not like I was planning it, you know? I didn't wake up in the morning and decide I would yell at you later. Sorry I yelled at you, by the way."

Taylor nodded. "You shouldn't have done that."

Lucas sucked in his lips for a second, then continued, "I know I shouldn't have. Look, I was a little bit, uh… I mean, I wasn't _that_ drunk, but I was—"

"Yeah, I have to say," the father cut in, "I checked the bottle after you'd gone to bed—it was fuller than I expected it to be. The way you acted, well…" Taylor snorted.

Lucas took a deep breath through his nose, mentally praying for the strength to remain calm. "Like I said, I'm _sorry_ ," he forced himself to say. "And it wasn't _just_ the alcohol. It was… _everything_. Coming here to this new world. The headache, the nausea, the itching—which is gone now, by the way."

"Oh, that's good."

"Yeah. Plus, the alcohol on top of that… I was…" Lucas heaved a sigh, then said, "I was overwhelmed. _Really_ overwhelmed."

"I guess that's understandable," Taylor admitted.

Lucas blinked. Was Taylor actually being _understanding_? Or did Lucas just seem so sorry Taylor took pity on him? Either way, it was a better response than he had expected. "I really _do_ regret what I said. And _how_ I said it," Lucas claimed. It _was_ partially true; he did regret it, if only because he had to apologize for it.

Taylor took in a breath.

Lucas straightened his posture, preparing himself for a lecture.

"That's okay."

Silence.

Lucas blinked again. "It is?"

"Well, it's not _okay_ that you yelled at me," Taylor explained, "but I'm willing to let it slide."

"You are?" Lucas asked, hardly believing his ears.

"Just this once," Taylor told him. "So long as you promise you won't yell at me again."

"Oh, of course, I promise. I won't yell at you again. Ever," Lucas said, even though he knew full well he would break the promise. He did not know when or why, but he knew he would. His father could drive him mad like nobody else could.

"Okay, then."

Silence.

Lucas blinked a few more times. "So… is this it? You're really not mad?" he questioned. "Aren't you going to ground me or something?"

"No, I'm really not mad this time," Taylor told him. "And do you know why?" Lucas shook his head. "Because I've been thinking about it, and I've realized something."

"What?"

"That this won't last."

"What won't?"

"This attitude of yours. Hating everything about this place," Taylor explained. "It's not going to last, trust me. I know better than anyone how overwhelming this journey can be."

Lucas took in a breath. "You do, huh?"

"I was stuck here alone for 118 days, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, I know you said it was hard and you were isolated and everything, but… You just…" Lucas shrugged. "You seemed to have handled it so well, you know? It's not just that you 'handled' it, you even _liked_ this place. That doesn't seem very overwhelming."

When Lucas said that, Taylor shook his head. "No, son, I like it here _now_ ," he clarified. "For the first few days—weeks, to be honest with you—there was nothing I wanted more than to go back to Earth."

The boy furrowed his brows. "Seriously?"

"Are you kidding? When I first got here, I was scared and sick and alone—that was pretty damn overwhelming."

Scared? His father was capable of being scared? That was almost too hard to believe. And— "Wait!" Lucas said, raising one hand. "You were sick, too?"

Taylor shrugged. "For the first day or two."

"Did you throw up?" Lucas asked as he leaned the tiniest bit forward.

"No, I didn't," his father answered. "Although there were moments I thought I might."

Upon hearing that, Lucas's face lit up. "Really?" he asked with a smile as bright as the lamp next to him.

Taylor frowned at seeing his son's reaction. "Why are you smiling? Don't you have any sympathy for me?"

"Oh, I do," Lucas claimed. "I'm just glad I'm not the only one who was ill."

"I see." The commander gave a nod. "Don't worry, you're not alone," he assured him. "The point is, I hated being in Terra Nova when I first got here, I did. Granted, in my case it was mostly because I was alone—which you're not, so I did kind of expect you to like it here right away… But I suppose it wasn't the only reason. Terra Nova does take some adjusting. I really thought at first that this was the worst place I've ever lived at—and I've moved through my fair share of warzones, you know that. But now? Now I can honestly say that I've never been to a better place than this one. Now I know that this is the best home I could possibly ask for."

 _'Well,_ sheet _,'_ Lucas thought to himself, _'he's actually going to kill me when I do my job, isn't he?'_

Taylor continued, "And I assure you that this is exactly how you will end up feeling. I don't know _when_ it'll happen for you, but I know—I _know_ —that, one day, I will ask you how you like it in the colony, and you will tell me that you love it here."

"You sound pretty sure of that," Lucas remarked.

"I am sure," Taylor confirmed. "You just need a little more time to adjust, and then you'll see how great this place is. I know you will. I mean, clean air? Clean water? Healthy, delicious food?" Lucas glanced aside, his face scrunching up ever so slightly. "I know, I know," Taylor said, "it's probably hard for you to see the appeal now. But, like I said, you just need to adjust. I know the air made you sick, but, believe you me, once you'll have lived here for a while, going back to the future would make you feel even worse."

 _'Oh, we'll see…'_ Lucas thought to himself.

"Same goes for water," the commander continued. "You would hate the dirty, rusty taste of Earth water if you hadn't grown up with it, trust me. And as for the food… Look, the only reason—well, besides the fact I had to prepare the milk myself… Let me tell you something, it wasn't that easy to make."

"Wait, that milk—you made it yourself?" Lucas asked.

"Yeah. They gave me the recipe and the ingredients and this bag of powder I had mix in it. I spent, like, an hour making it last night, and I only made two bottles."

"Huh." Lucas blinked and pressed his tongue against his cheek. "So you made that milk yourself…" The boy chuckled. "Well, that explains why it tastes so _incredibly_ awful."

"Hey!" The son laughed while the father frowned. "I thought we were having a moment. Why are you trying to ruin it?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Lucas said, even though he was not sorry in the least—a fact his giggling gave away. "I couldn't help it."

"You couldn't, huh?" Taylor shook his head while Lucas forced his laughter to quiet down.

"What can I say? I live for teasing you."

Taylor gave his son a light push, prompting another chuckle from the young man. The father ignored it. "Anyway, as I was trying to say," he spoke up, "the reason why I wanted you to drink the milk was that, well, I was told it would make the transition easier for you. And I wanted to make things easier for you than they'd been for me."

"Why?" Lucas asked, eying his father in suspicion. "Because I couldn't handle it the way you did?"

"No; it's because I remember how I hated it here. Because it was hard for me. I just didn't want that for you. I wanted you to love Terra Nova from your first moment here. I figured the smoother the transition, the more you'd like it. But if you really hate the milk so much—well, that kind of defeats the purpose of giving it to you."

Lucas glanced down at his feet, shifting his position. "You know, Dad," he said, "I've been thinking about that milk, and I reached the conclusion I should stick with it for now."

"Really?" Taylor asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lucas nodded. "Three days exclusively, right? I've already thrown up once since I came here; I don't want to repeat it tomorrow. I'm going to play it safe."

"Wow," Taylor said, and Lucas was not sure if the amazement on his face was genuine or faked to mock him. "Look at you, making the mature decision! Maybe you're not such a child after all."

"See, I don't like migraines, you know?"

"I don't think anyone does, son," Taylor told him. "So, you see, the air, the water, the food, all of it you'll get used to. And, well, I know there is also the little matter of dinosaurs…" The commander took in a breath, then said, "Son, I understand they can be scary, but you don't have to worry about them hurting you, really. And do you know why?"

"Why?"

Taylor sent the boy a smile and proceeded to say, "Because I won't let them."

Lucas laughed. "Yeah, right!"

"Hey, I'm serious," Taylor insisted. "I won't let them kill you, peanut; I will wrestle them if that's what it takes."

"You know, I'd actually like to see that fight," Lucas said, chuckling.

"To be frank, I hope it won't come to that," the father admitted. "But if it does, I'll do it. So there's really no reason you shouldn't like it here. …after you adjust, of course."

Silence fell upon the room. After a few seconds, during which Lucas shifted his position again, the boy spoke up, "So you're really not mad at me for yelling at you?"

"I'm really not this time," Taylor replied.

"Huh." The young man took in a deep breath, glancing down for a second before cautiously looking into his father's eyes. "Dad, can I ask you something?" he inquired with a soft, quiet voice. "And please give me a serious answer."

"What is it?"

"Why are you acting like this? Why are you calling me 'peanut' again all of a sudden? Chatting with me like this? Giving me water—and a _peace offering_? After _I_ freaked out at you?"

Taylor shrugged. "I'm just trying to be nice."

"Yeah, but _why_? Why are you trying to be nice to me?" He knew it would not last, but it still weirded him out a bit. What kind of game was his father playing? There was no way the man was being nice for his benefit.

"Because you're my son?" Taylor responded, clearly finding the answer obvious. "And because I'm your father? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought fathers were supposed to be nice to their kids."

"That's what I used to think," Lucas muttered, more to himself than to Taylor. Then again, that must have been why his father was acting that way—not because he wanted to, but because he was supposed to. He had to protect his public image, especially now that he was the leader of Terra Nova, a role model for everyone there.

"Lucas," the father said, "I know we've had some rough times in the past few years…" He sighed, remembering the petty as well as the not-so-petty arguments the two had engaged in since Ayani's death. "…but now we're here," he continued, "at this new place, building the future together with the other colonists. You see, I was hoping that, now that we're in Terra Nova, we could try and turn things around."

Lucas blinked. Something about Taylor's voice made him wonder if perhaps he really was being nice for his benefit. But that was impossible! …wasn't it? No, it had to be. (For a second, but only for a second, Lucas felt bad about the fact he had come to Terra Nova to destroy his father's dream. His shame went away as soon as he reached the conclusion that, whatever the reason behind Taylor's behavior, it would not last. Within a few days at the most, the man would return to his old arrogant, mean and critical self, Lucas was sure of that.) "Oh, believe me," the son claimed, "there is _nothing_ I want more than to turn things around." A tiny, little part of him, the part that felt the alcohol-induced warmth, wanted to add, 'But not in the way you think, muahahahaha!' Nevertheless, he held back on the desire to do that.

"Good, then we agree," Taylor said, smiling.

"Yeah." Lucas nodded. "For the first time in our lives, I think."

"Second time," Taylor corrected jokingly. "Remember yesterday, when I said you were too smart for me?"

Lucas started to laugh at that, and Taylor himself chuckled. "That is true. I almost forgot." After a few seconds, when the mood settled into a serious one again, the son decided it might be best to apologize once more. After all, if he was going to play it safe with the milk, he might as well play it safe with his father for the time being. "Dad, I'm sorry if I ruined this day for you. I know you wanted to take me on a trip somewhere…"

"Ah, you didn't ruin it," Taylor shrugged it off. "I wanted to take you to this mountain near the colony. The view from there is incredible! The most breathtaking sight I've ever seen." Taylor paused as if expecting a reaction from Lucas; all the boy did was give a single nod. "I'm sure you would have liked it," the man continued. "But hey, that's all right; I can take you there next week." (Commander Taylor would not take Lucas there until three months later.) "Like I told you yesterday, I'm in a good mood. I'm not going to let a little, drunken argument spoil the whole day. Speaking of which—I have to ask: where on earth did you get that bottle? 'Cause I didn't have that in the house before you came. At least, not that I'm aware off…" Taylor's voice trailed off.

Lucas smirked at his father's puzzlement, then he answered, "Boylan. He stopped by, like, an hour before you came back. He gave it to me. Well, actually, he brought it for _you_ ; said it's a thank-you for putting in a good word for him for the second pilgrimage."

Taylor furrowed his brows. "Where did _Boylan_ get it?" he asked. "I'd have thought Hope Plaza might confiscate this kind of, uh, luggage."

"Maybe he smuggled it here, I don't know," Lucas replied, shrugging. "I didn't ask. I just told him you were gone and that I'd give it to you when you came back."

"I see," Taylor said. A part of him wondered if Lucas was really planning on giving it to him, or if the kid would have kept it all for himself had he not walked in on him.

Afterwards, Lucas took the glass of water Taylor had given him. He drank the remainder of the liquid inside, then put it back on the nightstand. When he looked back at his father, he found the man eying him with a curious, narrowed gaze. "What?"

"I have a question for you," Taylor said.

"What is it?"

"You said earlier that you… that you expected to hate it here," the old man spoke. "Is that true? Did you really come thinking you wouldn't like it here?"

Lucas took in a breath, not answering right away. Not only had he expected so—he had hoped so. He could not allow the place to feel like a home, he couldn't. He did not think it would be a good idea to tell his father that, though.

"Did you?"

On the other hand, he had already admitted he had expected so; denying it would not be believable, he figured. "To tell you the truth," he said, "I did. I know all the reports and news and ads said it, but, frankly, Terra Nova didn't sound like a paradise to me. What with all the dinosaurs, having to build a new civilization from scratch and all that… And, well, the fact that I felt sick as soon as I came did _not_ prove me wrong."

"Then why did you come here?" the commander inquired.

Lucas blinked. "Didn't you want me to?"

"I did," Taylor said. _'More than anything.'_ "But, you see, I like this place. You say you don't. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't have come; I'm glad you're here. I'm just confused, you know? I'm having trouble understanding. If you honestly thought you'd hate it here, why did you bother coming?"

Lucas shrugged. "'Cause I wanted to."

"You wanted to come to a place that you thought you'd hate?"

"Yes, actually, I did."

"That makes no sense."

"Oh, it makes perfect sense to me," Lucas claimed. "See, this is the 'bad-but-likable' thing all over again. Just because you hate something, doesn't mean you can't want it. I want plenty of things I hate."

"But why?"

"Because I hate the alternative even more," Lucas explained. "Dad, don't get me wrong—I'm glad I came here, too, okay? I am. I really, _really_ am. But it's not because I think this world is a wonderland or anything. It's because coming here has given me an amazing— _a‑mazing_ —job opportunity. Here I'll be able to study the portal in much bigger depth than I could have in Chicago. Here, I'll have a chance to _accomplish_ something. Something _big_!" Lucas smiled, then his expression turned serious again. "This is my dream job, Dad. If the only way for me to have my dream job is to live at a place that I don't like, I'm willing to do that. Hell, I'm _happy_ to do that. But that doesn't mean I have to like this planet. I just don't. What's there to like? Well, except for my job. The sickness? The dinosaurs? You? I mean…"

Taylor was silent for a moment. He gave a nod, glancing away as he considered his next move. As much as he wanted his son to live in Terra Nova (after all, that had been the main reason he had joined the project himself), it was not all that he wanted. He wanted his son to _like_ living there. He wanted his son to show amazement at the beautiful, lively world full of wonders. He had to figure out a way to make Lucas see how great Terra Nova was, he had to. Finally, he looked back at the boy. "You think there's nothing to like here?"

"That is what I just said," Lucas confirmed.

Suddenly, Taylor stood up. Lucas flinched ever so slightly, wondering if, in his father's eyes, the fact he was more‑or‑less sober made what he had said worse than his earlier drunken yelling. However, Taylor did not seem angry; in fact, he smiled. "Let's make a deal," the man said. "I understand that this world is not perfect, but I think you're being a little _too_ negative. I tell you what, I'm going to show you one more thing that I have a feeling you might like. If you do, you'll stop complaining about this place and try and look at it in a more positive light. If you don't, I'll let you complain as much as your heart desires, and I won't say a thing. Do we have a deal?"

The youth hesitated. Was he supposed to be honest, or was he supposed to lie and agree? After all, there was no way either of them would hold up the deal. Lucas would never like it in Terra Nova, and Taylor would always complain about his complaining. _'Which makes you a hypocrite, by the way,'_ he thought but did not say. In the end, he told his father, "Okay."

"Come with me," Taylor demanded, stepping towards the open door.

"Come where?"

"Just follow me," the commander said, and with that he headed for the front door of the house.

Lucas sighed but stood up nevertheless. He walked out of the bedroom as his father walked out of the house. Taylor, however, did not go any farther. He stood in front of the house and waited for Lucas to join him there. "You're not going to throw me to the dinosaurs for what I said, are you?" Lucas joked.

Taylor chuckled. "No. Just come out here and then look up." _'If this doesn't amaze him, nothing will.'_

"Look up?" the young man repeated as he stepped out through the door. "Why do I— WHOA!"

He had expected darkness. He had expected to find nothing but utter, vast darkness, stretching out as far as the eye could see, obscured merely by buildings and trees and lamps that illuminated the darkness and made its emptiness all the more obvious. A deep pit with no escape. A simple, single‑colored ceiling, which made the whole of outside feel like one room he was confined to. A black canvas artists had forgotten to paint on.

Except they had not forgotten. Not in Terra Nova. The canvas was there, but it was full of tiny, light dots, shimmering and glistening and twinkling like in the old lullaby. Everywhere, scattered throughout the whole sky. Some clustered together, like families talking and laughing and loving each other, some farther apart, like lone wolves enjoying the peace of solitude. There must have been hundreds of those tiny dots, maybe even thousands. In fact, there were so many of them that he found it hard to believe his eyes.

"Holy _sheet_ , those are stars!" Lucas uttered, completely forgetting that his father did not approve of such language. "Right?" he asked—just to be sure—as he looked at the old man next to him.

Taylor frowned for a second, then his face softened. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Although you could have said it without that word…"

"Oh. Sorry," Lucas apologized, then gazed back up.

Taylor spoke up again, "You know, if you look over there…" He took hold of his son's shoulders and turned him; suddenly, Lucas found himself facing a giant, shining half‑orb levitating in the sky. "That's the moon," Taylor clarified, even though he figured Lucas realized so himself.

"That is huge!"

"Yeah, it is."

Lucas could do nothing but stare. It was incredible, really. He had never witnessed the sky looking like that. He had seen photos and paintings. He had even visited a planetarium. Nothing, though, nothing had done justice to the sight above him. The moon was way bigger than he had imagined it would be, and the stars… "There's so many…" he whispered to himself. He turned and turned again, wanting to take in every inch of the beauty. He turned and turned and took a step back and bumped into his father. The collision brought his mind back to earth. He took his eyes off the sky and apologized, "Sorry."

"No problem." Taylor chuckled.

"Is…" Lucas hesitated for a moment, then queried, "Is this what the sky looks like every night?"

"Well, the moon goes through phases, and some nights are more cloudy than tonight, but most nights, yes," the older man confirmed.

Lucas let out a breath, then gazed up one more time. All those light dots seemed so small to him, yet he knew they were anything but. Much as the allosaur he had seen the previous day, their apparent size was diminished by distance. All those teeny‑tiny, miniature, little spots, which looked no bigger than lightning bugs, were actually much, much, much bigger than any insect he had ever seen. Bigger than himself, actually. Bigger than the planet he was standing on.

For the first time in his life, he saw the vastness of the universe with his own eyes. He was not watching a picture of what the space beyond Earth's atmosphere was supposed to resemble. He was not watching a fake, holographic projection and being told that was what reality looked like. This time, he saw the true reality. He saw it and understood for the first time how immense the world's size was. And something about that understanding, something about it made him feel strange—not small as one might have expected, but _big_.

After all, how lucky was he? There were so many stars in the universe, and chances were there were even more planets. As far he knew, most of those planets were not inhabitable. On the two known planets that were (Earth and Terra Nova—which was, in a way, still Earth), most living things were plants and insects and other kinds of dumb, little animals that were too simple to appreciate the beauty above. And many of the only creatures that were capable of appreciating it would never have the opportunity to because the sight was no longer visible from Earth.

But, against all of those odds, he was given the chance to see it. He was given the chance to understand it. He was given the chance to marvel at it. He was not a rock on one of those barren, far-away planets. He was not a tree or an ant or a dinosaur. He was a human. What more than that, he was one of the mere couple of hundred humans out of the billions back on Earth who had been allowed to go to Terra Nova. Terra Nova, a place where something as ordinary as the night sky turned out to be the most stunning sight he had ever witnessed. And he had witnessed it. He had witnessed it because luck—or fate—had decided he was worthy of the experience.

The universe was so vast. There were so many stars and so many planets. So many rocks and plants and animals. And he was one of the few who could understand and appreciate it. One of the few who did.

He felt so big in that moment—and that was the exact feeling he had been hoping to find in Terra Nova.

Commander Taylor took a step toward his son. "So what do you think about this place now?" he queried.

Lucas did not say anything. He did not have to. The smile that appeared on his face answered the question for him.

* * *

 _The end_

* * *

Author's note

ASDFGHJKLAKJFHFOAJDKAGAAAAH! It was so hard not to make Taylor and Lucas hug in this chapter! Like when Taylor told Lucas he was really not mad this time, or when they laughed after saying they agreed for the second time in their lives, or when Lucas liked the stars, it would have been so beautiful if they had hugged! (And then Taylor would tell Lucas he loved him and Lucas would come clean about why he was sent to Terra Nova but he would promise not to do it and Taylor would forgive him and they would be a happy family forever ashfgdfgkhljoiajeoxn!) But I kind of felt like their hug in _Resistance_ would be less noteworthy if they hugged here too, so I held back on my desire to reconcile— I mean, make them embrace.

 _*clears throat*_ …As you can see, I'm really into the Taylor & Lucas relationship.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading _The Second It Began_ , and special thanks to those kind enough to review. I hope you enjoyed the story; if you did, you might be interested in knowing that, even though _TSIB_ is over, I'm thinking of posting more Lucas-centric stories. But it might take a while. I'm a very slow writer. So… stay tuned but not, like, _too_ tuned…?

BTW I deleted a very short bit from this chapter where, after Lucas said he got the bottle from Boylan, Taylor actually remarked that Lucas didn't seem to be planning on giving it to him, and Lucas defended himself by saying that he was planning on it—until he remembered alcohol is bad, so, really, he was doing Taylor a favor by drinking it himself. :D I changed it because I felt like the version where Taylor says nothing suited the scene better.

Okay, I think that's all I had to say. Goodbye and have a nice day! :-)


End file.
